


The Heist Compendium

by Wolfgang von Cemetery (enemy_xands)



Category: Chikara (Professional Wrestling), Extreme Championship Wrestling, Lucha Underground, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Awkward First Times, Big dudes with tiny cats, Bodily Fluids, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Brats - Freeform, Comic-Con, Community: wrestlingkink, Extremely Dubious Consent, Femdom, First Time Bottoming, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Kinda AU, Kink Meme, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, PWP without Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Romance, Rough Sex, Runs the gamut, Sibling Incest, Supernatural Elements, Weeaboos everywhere, you get the gist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 43,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemy_xands/pseuds/Wolfgang%20von%20Cemetery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, in this very ring, it's aaaaNOTHER drabble collection from the depths of the meme prompt fill mines. In this corner, we have content warnings per chapter, aaand in this corner, we have any applicable pairings. Ejected from the ring for interference is anything I forget to update with? From fluffy gen to not-PG depravity, for the next few hours we've got everything right here! How many fills will we get up to? Will anyone ever explain the title? Find out, right...now!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Lost Control A (Bray Wyatt/Roman Reigns)

**Author's Note:**

> Probably my favorite fill out of the bunch for the wrestlingkinkmeme on Dreamwidth, I almost completely re-wrote it so some shit made sense. Unfortunately I wrote this well before the Battleground PPV so it's pretty much an alternate continuity lol.
> 
> Warnings for extremely dubcon and mentions of suicide and self harm.

_He won't see the Sun for years to come..._

Roman didn't really understand what was going on although sometimes he thought he did. Did that even make sense? Thinking out loud.

It was hard to think in a club blasting throbbing music though. What was he doing here? He needed to clear his head so he ran off without telling anyone, not even Dean. Ha. Ha.

Everything was too far away now. The corridor to what he wanted stretched impossibly wide and long and littered with setbacks. So he ran like a coward, tail between his legs.

So what if he was drawing more heat than your average heel, so what if he couldn't win anything to save his life. So fucking what. Money in the Bank or no, he was just playing the game and eventually everything would come to fruition. He just hit the reset button that's all, he had plenty of time to bounce back.

All the drinks he'd had finally caught up with him and his head dropped on the table; it smelled like vodka. The music was thumping through the table and up against his temples. He could see the tabloids now: WWE Superstar Passed Out In Bar. Maybe it would help his reputation out.

He was getting sleepy. A pretty girl with a thick ass was coming to dance on him in his oblivious state. He smiled, loopy The end of his career was nigh, he might as well end it on a high note.

"Ma'am, I'll give you a hundred dollars to shoo." 

What the hell? Roman snapped his head up, in a daze. The floor worker was a little puzzled too.

"Did you just...offer to pay me to go away?"

"Yes."

She looked at the man in the out of season hunting jacket and straw hat and then back to Roman, then shrugged. Pay was pay, and it wasn't like there weren't a thousand other men that would be glad to have her company. She tucked the wad of bills into her thong and off she went. Across the glass top table, Bray Wyatt sat down, his new beard so long it threatened to dip into a pool of left over liquor. Or Roman's drool, he wasn't sure which. 

"Roman, Roman, Roman...man." Bray chuckled and laughed in a cordial way that he had no right to do, not after his last creepy-ass little video package.

"The hell are you doing here," Roman said, or thought he was saying. He hoped. Bray seemed to understand him.

"Looking for you." 

"Well, you found me." Roman sat back and punched his fist in his palm. "If you want to get started on that match right now--"

"Nah, man. I'm here for the same reason you are, to have a good time." 

Now it was Roman's turn to laugh. "A good time? Here? I didn't think this was your vibe."

"Oh, my fun hasn't started just yet." Bray let his head loll back and his eyes wander. "This is nice."

There was something...off about Bray that Roman couldn't put his finger on, and it certainly wasn't the liquor. This wasn't the usual tremble-voiced maniac sliding into the ring and leaving threatening messages on voice mails. Maybe it was the fact that he was so out of his element it wasn't funny but he seemed rather...pleasant. Roman could almost believe he was genuinely here for a solo man's night out, and not to fuck with his head some more.

"Let's dance."

Those two words nearly gave Roman a heart attack. Bray was already getting up as if Roman had accepted, pulling him out to a part of the floor that wasn't packed yet. The song on now was slowish but it was more for grinding, not...whatever the two of them were about to do. Oh god, was Bray going to grind on him? This was officially too much. 

For Roman's heart health, Bray did not try anything salacious, although gripping each other's arms and rotating around on the floor wasn't exactly safe either. Bray had a very serene smile on his face. Roman knew he was sweating for multiple reasons.

"This isn't exactly your world either, Roman," he said, voice managing to pierce the din of the song and the club ambiance. "You came here to hide your face."

Roman sighed. Here come the mind games. He was almost relieved at this point. But he couldn't deny that Bray was right. 

To his surprise Bray didn't say anything else, he just swayed along with Roman on the floor. No one was staring but Roman was getting self-conscious. He'd rather have a drunken night out headline than a "Seen With Your Most Hated Enemy In A Compromising Position" headline. The room was spinning and he was quickly losing control of this situation. He had to leave, and he had to do it right now. Bray was pulling him in closer and if he didn't step out of this right now he was probably never going to.

A loud smack resounded and several people ducked. Gunfire? No, a hit. Another came and Roman realized his arms were empty. Bray was on the ground laughing that crazed laugh Roman had come to know well with Dean standing over him, shaking from head to toe.

"You get the fuck out of here," he snarled, "and don't let me see you touching Ro ever again or you're _dead_."

Bray spoke to Roman like Dean wasn't there. "I didn't realize he was fighting your battles now. And fighting them better." 

"Shut UP." Dean planted a kick to Bray's side but it was like kicking a tank. There was a lot of commotion in the club now and Roman rolled his eyes. Here come the headlines. 

Bray was still laughing but now slowly crawling/limping his way to the door. "It must be nice to have friends," he howled. "Friends, friends, friends..." he was crooning an off-key melody that vaguely sounded like the music they were just dancing to.

Dean was about to come back with another ass kicking before Roman stopped him. His weight against Dean's forearms made the other man realize just how out of it his friend was. 

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

The car ride back was the longest fifteen minutes of Roman's life and he knew eventually he'd have to come clean. His eyes were swimming as he tried to count the stars.

"What was he doing to you in there?"

"Dean, we were just--"

"I was worried all night about you. You didn't even tell me you were gone."

"I needed to clear my head. We were just talking Dean, I was in control the whole time."

"That looked like more than talking," Dean said with a snort. "Were you two fucking dancing?"

"Not really...well, I mean, I guess. Sure, we were dancing." 

"If I hadn't gotten there--"

" _If you hadn't gotten there what?_ " Roman snapped. A wave of annoyance and rage washed over him, tinged with something deeper. He couldn't name it--didn't want to name it. "I didn't ask you to come. Did you think it was better to run in and cause a scene with my name all over it?"

To Roman's surprise, Dean shrank back. He must have been louder than he thought, or maybe he finally caught up to the alcohol on his breath. As long as there were no more questions it didn't matter anymore. He leaned back in the seat just as they pulled up to the hotel at last. Dean killed the ignition and the two of them sat a moment.

"I... didn't know where you had gone," Dean said, voice low in his throat. "I didn't know what you were doing. I was up and down the hallways looking for you after you stormed out. After..." 

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You always pick yourself up again whenever you go down, Ro. That's what I admire about you so much. Why is this different?"

Roman's fingers fumbled on the overly complicated child locks until he finally freed himself from the suddenly too-hot, too-small box. "It's not. It's not at all."   
~~~~~

The morning made last night seem like a bad joke, or a pipe dream. Roman took some time to take a hot shower and exfoliate his face. He wished he felt less like a shithead. He shouldn't have blown up at his best friend like that, but Dean just didn't get it sometimes. He didn't see it like Roman did, and why would he? He was perhaps literally out here every night getting away with murder. He could do no wrong. Roman could do no right to the point where he had to start attaching himself to other Superstars like a leech.

"It's all in your head, man," Dean had told him. "Snap out of it!"

His phone rang--his room phone. He didn't think anyone had the extension...

"Hello?"

"Rise 'n shine, buttercup."

Of course, a distant feeling whispered to him. "Bray, I don't need this right now."

"Everyone needs someone to check up on them. Sleep well? Or did you have the dreams again?"

Roman stiffened. "You don't know anything about my dreams."

A deep chuckle over the phone. "Oh, I know... I know you run. I know you run so fast your calves bleed but you never get there. I know you fight until your knuckles bleed but you never beat it. I know you cry."

"What the fuck do you want, Bray!" Roman yelled, frustrated at the tremor in his voice.

"Why, I just want to get what's out of my head into yours little lamb. It'll help you sleep at night."

Roman brought his heart rate back down. "I don't need whatever is in your head. I've got enough crazy of my own."

"Humor me."

The bed creaked as the heavy Samoan rested back and contemplated. After all, where would Bray be without his attention right now? It felt good to have someone on the ropes for once. He chuckled a little.

"Fine. What's in there?"

"Me laying down in the ring for you."

Shock nearly made Roman drop the phone, then rage nearly made him crush it. "Listen, I don't need your pity. If you don't think I can beat your ass clean, you're dead wrong."

"Lamb, you must admit you and I are in the same position right now on opposite ends. You need the opportunity..." A laugh bubbled from his lips like he couldn't help himself. "You'd like to think you can do it by yourself but they'll never let you, man. Not now."

"How does that help you?"

"Seeing your glorious smile basking in adoration is all I need."

"Bray, I'm not sure we're on the same page here. You've threatened my family. My daughter's going to have to live with security around her. You want to lay down for me, but you're the one that killed my ladder match. And now you expect me to trust you?" Roman would laugh if he weren't so amazed at the man's sheer audacity. 

"I don't expect you to trust me at all, Roman." Bray's voice dropped low and hollow. "I just expect you to know that I know the real you. 

"You know why you can't win, lamb? You want it too much. You fight too hard. You fight blind. You're not even a scared child inside; that child is gone. You're a scared, insecure grown man trying to hide behind bravado. Isn't that why you were really in a club last night, not at home with--"

"I'm done entertaining you." Roman hung up right as Bray let off another peel of crazed laughter. He shuddered. That had gone on too long and too far. 

He was grateful for the knock at the door to distract him, flung it open to reveal Dean with a mouth half-stuffed full of breakfast donuts. Cradled in his arms were slices of cake wrapped in plastic.

"I stole you some cheesecake."

Roman had to laugh at the sight, loud and long. Good god, he needed that. Dean spread his gifts over the hotel bed and sat down with them.

"You get some sleep?" 

"Yeah. Yeah." He unwrapped a slice of cheesecake and didn't bother with a fork. "This is going to cap the day off early." 

"I figured, after everything that happened last night."

"Oh, that? That wasn't nothin', I handled it. And I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm just so damn stressed out--" 

Dean's gaze abruptly darkened. "Handled?" 

Roman shoveled more food into his mouth to give himself a moment to think, and hopefully make himself incoherent. "He cawled this morning. Said some cwazy shit."

"Humor me." 

"I... well, he said something about letting me win on purpose. Pin him, I assume." 

Dean started shaking his head slowly. "Roman. I know you think you've got this, but please stay away from Bray. He's not... he's not crazy at all, he knows exactly what he's doing."

"Getting under my skin. Yeah, I know, we've done this dance before." 

But Dean was already getting up, restless, a blur of a black shirt and jeans as he paced around the room.

"I'm gonna break his arms, first. Then I'm gonna break his legs, then I'm gonna rip off that stupid beard--"

"What I'M bout to do right now is eat the rest of this cheesecake." Roman laughed and made a mountain of pastry slices on his pillow. "Then I'm gonna start getting ready to beat his ass. All by myself."

"Sure you're okay?"

"Absolutely." 

Dean seemed placated for a moment and sat down on the bed. He had totally killed his appetite with all the donuts but he would work them off later. He watched as Roman ate, not commenting or making his usual nom-nom noises. Dean wasn't even sure Roman was aware that he made nom-nom noises around sweets, but Dean thought it was fucking precious. He had a loopy grin on his face before he knew it.

" Good?"

"Yeah, dad."

"Come on." He sighed. "How's my niece?"

"Fine. A little scared, but she knows daddy's got it."

What a stock answer. Roman had been giving Dean a lot of those lately, and he didn't want to admit how much it wounded him inside. Roman had a smile on his face but his eyes looked mikes away, flitting around to every dark patch in the room.

"Yeah. Uncle Dean's got it, too," Dean said with a laugh, but Roman didn't reciprocate. Just looked at him then ate another bite.

"Gym?"  
~~~~~~~~~

Staying away from Bray proved easier said than done, or rather staying away from the specter of Wyatt. Roman hardly saw the man in person, but felt his presence, heard the chatter about him. All the myriad ways he would beat Roman in the ring and, wow, it was so low of him to bring his family into this--and, do you really think Roman can beat him clean? or--

Roman was used to doubt, used to being the underdog. But lately the salt in that wound really stung and the boulders of expectation were heavy.

Yes, getting away from the man was quite a hard thing to do. He'd even begun seeing images of him in places he knew he couldn't be: in the mirror, in the passenger seat, right behind him...

"Whatever it is, Ro, you've gotta snap out of it. This isn't you. Talk to me, please."

Bray had stopped leaving voice mails by now and had started leaving scribbled notes on the back of post cards, newspaper clippings, and sticky notes. A constant pen pal. Things like "There's no resentment in this house..." and a clip of "He's Got the Whole World In His Hands". He really thought he knew something. 

For once, staff asked was there anything else they could do because even they had to admit this was getting a bit out of hand. But Roman waved them off every time. 

The last note was metallic ink on a small black sticky note and it said simply, "never be free. never." Roman crumpled the note up so hard that the sharp edges poked tiny holes into his hands, but the adrenaline and lack of sleep blocked him from feeling pain. He gathered a few notes up and smirked, swayed his way out of the room and hoped he looked cocky and not drunk.

He knew better by now than to crash an Authority pow-wow, but the best way to bring out someone that thought he was a god was through hubris. The hot sticky notes clung to his fingers but managed to stay on even as he got in the ring, staring down Triple H and his new hired muscle.

"You got some stage notes on your hand there?" Triple H motioned to Roman's hands with the mic.

Roman swooped down and picked up a mic from the side of the ring. "No, no... I just wanted to let you know what your little sorcerer back there has been up to."

He peeled the notes from each finger as he read them out loud. "Leaving me little...inspirational quotes like we're Facebook friends. 'If you raise crows they'll pluck your eyes out.' 'Banality of the beehive.' 'Great expectations!' Your boy is a poet."

The swell of negative noise from the fans had actually stopped and they were relatively quiet again, whether it was from revulsion or genuine interest was hard to say. Triple H's brow furrowed.

"If you think for a moment we're sending him out to do all this, you're wrong. I believe he'd take that as an insult as well."

"But if you're really wanting to to get out some aggression before your Battleground match, why don't you give us a little preview right about...now?"

Hunter looked like he was going to beat Kane's face in with the mic. It wasn't that hard to work Kane despite appearances to the contrary. Deep down beneath his business exterior, that man still loved senseless violence and would cut Hunter off in a minute if he knew it was guaranteed.

The lights blinked out and the glow of fireflies bloomed among the WWE Universe. Bray was going to give him exactly what he wanted because he was in control.

The lantern swung rhythmically as Bray ambled out, his silhouette bulky and looming like a beast. When he extinguished the light in the middle of the ring and the house lights came back on, he was in a patchwork coat of pelts that would otherwise look ridiculous on anyone else. If Wyatt were just anyone else.

Before Roman could get a word in, Bray was already on the mic and his followers entranced.

"You glorious creature," he said, voice with a hint of a purr, "you golden god from Olympus."

Roman almost started with "please don't" but caught him self in time. "You son of a bitch."

Bray found this jovial and threw his head back laughing. "You don't know nothin' about that. But you, let's see...a pampered prince with a lot of handlers. Groomed. Destined to be king. You've got the strong regal look and personality. But what they don't know is...who would ever follow a king that hides away and hurts himself?"

There was an audible thump when the mic slid from Roman's hands and Bray was circling him now like a wolf. He was smiling but nothing about him held a hint of mirth.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You're not a lost cause cutter like your beloved friend, you not that reckless. You slip it in. A drink or two here and there, extra hard bumps in the ring. You hope it'll take its toll eventually so they'll just leave you alone...that's what you thought you wanted. Just less pressure.

"But when someone else took your throne, man! I ain't never heard a little lamb roar so loud. They didn't just leave you alone, they abandoned you. And you realized how easy it is...to be..." Bray hissed low into the mic that dreaded word that made Roman's breath hitch. " _Replaced_. And not just with anyone. It would hurt less if it was a old scallywag off the street. But not your confidante, not your best...friend."

Roman knew that if he fell apart right now, in this very ring, there would be no going back. He'd have to admit everything this monster had just said about him was true plus things he had the decency not to mention. He couldn't lose it.

The thin veneer of control rattled, shook, broke when he tore his vocal cords screaming and lunged at Bray, both of them toppling out of the ring. He gleefully wrecked the other man's face with his fists, but the charlatan was too slippery for him and wriggled out, his laughter a shrill howl. He blocked Roman's subsequent hits and disappeared into the darkness backstage with Roman in pursuit, leaving nothing but a perplexed crowd and Michael Cole loudly asking what the hell had just happened.

Backstage, everything was a target. Papers, equipment, and a few people went flying in Roman's wake as he churned through, not looking for anything in particular and driven by a hot core of pain. When he was finally restrained he howled and nearly dislocated his own shoulder twice trying to escape.

"Let go, let go, letgoletgoletgo--"

Kane of all people had him down in a rudimentary headlock because he couldn't control the powerful flailing arms alternately trying to push back and claw his face off. Roman had lost his voice a few minutes ago and was reduced to a hoarse whine that sounded like a death rattle.

Another pair of arms wrapped around his neck and the body was shaking and heaving.

"Stop, stop, I've got him."

Kane let go like he was dropping a rambunctious dog off at the vet and stood back. Roman wrestled himself free from the other pair of arms and backed up against the wall, still snarling.

"Control him!"

"Ro," Dean begged, "Roman, brother."

"Don't. Don't."

"Fuck him! Nothing that twisted bastard said was true. Not one damn word out of his lying mouth! I'll be damned if that motherfucker gets between us--"

The chaos was broken by a single note of hoarse, choked laughter and the rasp of fabric as Roman slid down the wall into a heap. His wet eyes rolled up and he looked at Dean like he was the only one in the room.

"Everything he said is true. All of it. We all know it is."

"Are you just going to give up and let that fucking psychopath win?" The force of his own anger took Dean aback and he thought he might collapse. This couldn't be happening, it was like a living nightmare watching one of the strongest people in his life, the one he cared most about, crack like eggshells.

Dean took a step forward, hand stretched out, fingers trembling. He just need to feel his brother, know that it was still him. The skin and hair that he and Seth always teased him about, the texture of his clothes, anything to connect him to the real world and not the nightmare landscape this had become.

But Roman was back in trapped animal mode, sliding back so quickly his shirt rode up and he was up on his feet in a series of jerky movements.

"Do. Not. Touch me. Don't ever touch me. Don't even speak to me ever again!"

He ran with a stagger like a wounded deer attempting to escape the hunter.

It was Dean's turn to finally collapse, drop to his knees in the middle of the room but he was caught before he could have even that reprieve. J&J hauled him out as Kane was talking into two phones, one for a security detail and the other trying to explain what the hell was going on.

They took him to one of the interview rooms and let him sink onto the couch.

"That was traumatic, to say the least," Jamie muttered to Joey. "Bray is really doing a number on him."

"I just--" Joey made a series of motions that ended in a helpless shrug. He raised his voice so that Dean could hear him. "We'll find him, don't worry."

Dean was trapped his own world, pulling an expensive pillow apart thread by thread. Jamie grimaced and the two of them gently closed the door behind them, left him to his violence.


	2. He's Lost Control B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup that match did not go the way I thought lol. But surprisingly a lot of this shit apparently made it to the ring.

Roman had run all night and clear into dawn. His shirt was torn and his torso were scratched, his feet and legs ached but he couldn't stop. Just like his dreams.

"Stop!"

They had sent security after him, but they should have known better. It was ludicrous: he's a trained athlete, and crazy.

He had shaken most of them by now except three in particular who just wouldn't quit. They must be the elite, he thought as he stumbled. He came to a ditch and tripped, of course, and ended up sprawled in the grass. He didn't realize just how much he hurt until he couldn't move anymore. The hands were on him quickly and he had to go willingly as security dragged him ungracefully through whatever patch of wood he'd ended up in.

"Wherrre...are we going...?" he slurred. No answer, just grunts. More dragging. In the distance there was a cabin; Roman squinted to see if it was distinguishable as WWE property but it just looked like a shack. A holding cell until the party wagon got here? He had a bad feeling about this but his whole body felt like lead.

The inside was pitch black, not even the faint glow of the oncoming morning seeped in. Security threw him onto the dusty wood floor. He pushed himself up a bit to look around: no decorations, one window, one big room. Probably abandoned a long time.

He heard a few metallic noises and the scritch of a match strike. The room filled with the warm glow of a candle or lantern. In the orange haze, his three guards moved in front of him and one by one their faces were revealed and they stripped off their stolen uniforms.

"Well look at that, little lamb. You ran right to us."

Roman started dry heaving. This was not happening, nononono.

"Don't look at me like that," Bray muttered and sounded genuinely hurt. "I just wanted to get you away...far away from the maddening crowd."

Bray crouched to Roman's level with Luke and Eric standing to either side of him like rooks on a chess board. Bray pushed back a few sweaty strands of hair away from Roman's cloudy eyes.

"I heard how he hurt you. I heard you screaming and it hurt my heart, too."

"Everyone. Has. Hurt me." Roman was surprised he could still manage a sardonic edge in his voice.

"I know they've all burned you. But I'm not everyone, lamb. No, my hands would never hurt you."

Roman felt sick with himself for leaning into Bray's cool touch. For a minute, his hypnotic voice was the whole world.

"Take me here...and out there. Claim what's yours and never let them take it from you ever again."

"Please stop. You don't understand what you're asking me to do."

"No. You don't understand, lamb." His fingers lazily trailed down the exposed patch of his neck before it met with the floor. "Or do you?"

Roman rolled over with a dull thud. This was happening regardless of whether he wanted it or not. He pushed his shirt down like an offering and closed his eyes. Bray eagerly sucked at the hot, salty skin waiting for him and snaked a hand up his ribcage, massaging exactly on the sore spots. He planted kisses backwards from chest to collarbone, to face, around the lips...and stopped.

The sudden rush of cold air shocked Roman and he looked around for his captors only to see sawdust-filled air.

"Our dance isn't quite finished yet, lamb." Bray's disembodied, sing-song voice drifted in like pollen on a breeze. "We haven't earned our finale. Go home and rest easy."

The air was polluted by a dark chuckle that grew into a cacophony of screaming and Roman fell into a deep darkness at last.

Jamie had wanted to drive, but Joey convinced him that would be stupid if Roman had bolted into the woods. Which, judging by the security detail and foot prints, he totally had.

"Yeah, he had three guys with him," one officer said.

"Three?" Jamie didn't have a list of Roman's allies handy but he couldn't for the life of him think of three people that would be out here with him like this. That made him nervous to say the very least.

"Hillbillies?"

The two of them trekked through the dewy grass, the morning light on their side to aid in searching.

"That's offensive, y'know," Jamie grumbled.

Joey raised an eyebrow. "Really? How so?"

"It's a negative stereotype, okay?" Good lord, they'd been over this.

"I've never been offended by it."

"Well whoopty-doo!" Jamie threw his hands up in exasperation. "So, just because Joey's never had a slur thrown at him--"

"Cabin-thing."

"We should all be so lu--what?"

"Cabin?"

Jamie peered into the distance and saw the rickety structure Joey was referring to. A cabin all the way out here? Probably a love shack. Jamie snorted before composing himself.

"God help us if he's in there, looks like it's got all kinds of mold an' tetanus."

The two of them crossed the field, avoiding a ditch, and Joey kicked the cabin door open. As he suspected, it fell right away. He took a tentative step and his shoe caught something...squishy. And moaning.

Jamie shined the flashlight and sighed with relief when he saw Joey hadn't crushed the man's face.

"He's out. Make sure he don't go anywhere this time."

Jamie stepped outside and phoned their boss. Joey lifted Roman's head up gently; he was coming to, bit by bit, and even in the gray glow of the morning Joey could tell _something_ had happened out here.

"Roman?"

Roman jerked a little at Joey's face but stilled after. "Joey, old buddy."

Joey smirked. "Hey yourself. How'd you get all the way out here?"

Roman said simply, "Wyatts."

Jamie poked his head in the doorway and sucked a sharp breath.

"Are you...okay? Did they do anything?" His voice was loaded with implications.

Roman gave him a dull glare. "Nothing I can't handle." He sat up and pressed his hands side by side. "Come on. I'll go willingly."

Jamie observed Roman's condition quickly. One, he was lying. Two, he looked in no real condition to fight back. Three, judging by the little stains on the floor, his feet were or had been bleeding. He'd been given zip cords to restrain the man but he just couldn't bring himself to it, not now.

"No, no...come on, we'll just walk ya out."  
~~~~~~~~

"Do you have any damn idea how hard it's been keeping this shit out of the press?" Triple H ground out. This had started out so beautiful, now he wanted nothing more than to just roll under the table and hide for a day or two.

Roman was silent in his office, settling for staring out the window. Hunter had a feeling he was listening but he was a million miles elsewhere, mentally.

"Fair enough, you wouldn't. Let's just say its been pretty hard. Now I need to ask you: Are. You. Ready. For tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Are you ready for whatever happens?"

"Yes."

"I am absolutely not sending you out there if you think for just a moment you can't handle this."

Roman's voice was gravelly from disuse, a consequence of his self-imposed four week exile. "I mean. What would you do otherwise?"

"Believe me, I've had a back up plan ever since he first looked at you crazy."

A small smirk tugged at Roman's lips. "I didn't think you cared, boss."

"You're a pain in my ass, man, I don't want you dead. Or worse." Hunter dragged a broad hand down his face and leaned in close, decreasing the ocean of space between the two of them. "Call your family. Talk to Dean. Kick Wyatt's ass to the stratosphere tomorrow, okay?"

Roman smiled but it held no mirth or confidence.

"You got it."

Battleground, where both of their mettles were to be tested. Roman came out to a roar that he wasn't sure was in his head or really the crowd. His personal security escorted him to the stage and kept him steady. Pyro was going off like gangbusters but his only world was the four corners of this very ring.

He picked up a mic and waited for an opportune time for the pops to die down and he could be heard. He knows the crowd is expecting a long promo about pulling himself together and working extra hard for this night. But a chortle escapes his lips instead.

"I can't wait to get what's in my head out and into yours."

The Universe's cheering died down to noticeably perplexed noises. Was that it? This wasn't his style at all. Where was the bombast and spitfire personality? He was sounding just as cryptic as his opponent.

His foe, who was entering the ring right now equally stripped of his usual parade of terrifying imagery. Only the exaggerated creak of his lantern and what little light it gave off, and the dulcet ambiance of his entrance music accompanied him out. When he stepped into the ring he looked equally as enchanted as his cult, dropping his heavy coat of pellets and gazing at Roman like a reincarnated lover, beckoning him to come forth.

Roman, for his part, smirked and spoke just loud enough for the house sound to pick up. "Thanks for destroying my life and my sanity." And he meant it sincerely.

Bray gave him a kind smile in return. "It was my pleasure."

It didn't take Roman much longer to drop his façade of control and start wailing on Wyatt, less interested in the art of wrestling and more in doing damage. Bray was going to look like a mirror of his mind before this night was through.

The cult leader matched his violence equally, including a few uncharacteristic kicks to the head and a chair shot. Roman had never seen the other man scrap so hard and come off the top rope so often, and goddamnit he just. Kept. Coming. Two spears couldn't hold him down and a punch to the jaw stopped him a moment just to pop everything back into place. 

Roman circled around and dragged Bray out of the ring to introduce his face a couple of times to the steel steps. A thin rivulet of blood ran down his face like a fracture, from a cut somewhere in his hairline. Roman could feel its warmth over his fingers and his grip tightened, his heart raced. He dragged a barely-conscious Bray back into the ring for the pin, but Bray somewhat predictably kicked out at two. Roman pulled the other man up again but Bray pushed out of his grip, countered his charge with a clothesline. When he was down, Bray hit him with a running senton and started his count down sequence to Sister Abigail.

"Fffuck," Roman hissed and hoped the house sound didn't pick up on that at least. It couldn't end here. Not on his back staring at the bright ceiling lights. Bray had flipped over and was doing that damned spiderwalk over to his side, brazenly and loudly kissed his neck before laughing that deranged laugh.

No. No, he could still do this. He rolled over and was getting up just when the guitar riff hit and the crowd popped so loud he felt the ring vibrate. His heart seized.

"No, no, no. Don't do this, please. I need this."

Dean was sprinting like Roman had never seen before, determination chiseled onto his flushed face.

"I told you they'll never let you have it, lamb. They think you're weak. What's it gonna be?"

Blood from Bray's face dripped into Roman's mouth and seemed to energize him; he shot up like he was possessed, heart beating so fast he thought it might fly out of his chest. Dean practically pole vaulted over the ropes but time had slowed down, he would never catch him. This was all his, he needed it so bad that everything faded out and vanished for this singular moment. Bray dropped flat and Roman caught him in a basic roll up with a mercifully quick three count and that was it as far as he and the audience was concerned. If the sheets would talk about one of the most awkwardly staged moments in WWE history in the morning, the history books would simply say that he won it fair with a little footnote at the end. Tears streamed down his face and he couldn't tell if he was laughing or sobbing.

As the night wore on Roman decided he was doing some strange mix in between punctuated by the odd animalistic howl. He had long ago disassociated from himself and regarded the heap of a person sequestered away in an old locker room with pity and contempt.

"I can see the pain behind your eyes...it's been there for quite a while..."

The croon penetrated his ears and like a mother singing her baby to sleep he quieted down almost instantly with only a few hiccups. He heard the sound of old shoes on tile, circling around him then stop. Walk a few paces, stop.

"Bray...?" And oh god, how that creature on the floor sounded like a child missing his mother.

"I just wanna be the one...to remind you what it is to smile..."

Another hiccup. Bray spilled out of the inky darkness with his hands held out like the false messiah he was. He dropped to his knees and crawled to Roman's side, cradled his head in his hands.

"You hate yourself, little lamb."

Roman's eyes dropped to the floor.

"You hate yourself so that I could come and fill you with love. Do you see how much it hurts out there?"

Roman nodded and sniffed. Bray took a languid moment to slide his hand down the other man's chest, caress it before moving on to the taught and still heaving abdomen. His fingers swirled around his belly button before teasing the waistband. Roman jerked a bit but didn't move. Bray hated that his prize was sitting there dazed and empty like a doll, so he pinched a nipple hard; when Roman winced and cried out he smiled.

"Let's finish our dance, shall we?"

He pressed his lips against Roman's, gently at first and then harsh and sloppy. Roman returned his advances, but Bray wanted a little more fire from him so he bit his tongue.

"Y-you said this wouldn't hurt," Roman whimpered.

"Forgive me," Bray muttered in his ear. "I just wanted to make sure you were receiving my message...not tuning me out."

Bray's impatient hands slipped into Roman's waistband and the other man's needy moans were everything he ever dreamed of. He teased the wet tip with his thumb before finally freeing the entire length to stroke it at his leisure, pressing his ear up against Roman's throat to feel the vibrations of his cries.

"Let me love you...until you learn to love...yourself..."

Bray's husky, breathy singing voice and his beard tickled Roman's sensitive neck and made him flush with arousal and shame. When Bray shoved him on his back and pushed his pants low enough to expose his ass, he let the other man take this pleasure. Hadn't they earned it, at last? He gasped when Bray bit the inside of his thigh then circled his tongue around his asshole before moving his attentions back to his dick and thighs, licking and planting messy kisses wherever he pleased. Roman gritted his teeth and despite himself a few grunts and yells escaped him as his orgasm was sucked out of him. Bray savored every last drop and tried to pull a few more out of him, but his prize was spent.

He crawled up Roman's body until they were face to face. His gaping, laughing maw stretched open and swallowed Roman whole, from the bottom of his feet to his very soul.

"Let me...love you..."  
~~~~~~~

Seth sat in the green room with his head in his hands, replaying the footage over and over but he wasn't looking at it anymore. It didn't matter anymore what happened to him at Battleground, but the week after.

After his betrayal of his former brothers, he had to admit he'd had a few "what have I done?" moments as cliché as it was , ditto after he was finished alienating 99% of the Authority. He'd managed to gain some of their trust back, but Monday night was the first moment he truly sat back and asked himself, "what have I done?" Where was the line where his fault in this farce ended, and pure evil began?

"If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it either," Stephanie said with some wonder in her voice.

On Monday, during another Authority get together in the ring, Bray had gotten impatient and decided to show off his new addition to the collection right then and there. And without further ado, the lights shut out and when they came back the four of them were already in the ring: Bray, Luke, Eric, and Roman already reaching for a mic.

"What the hell?" Hunter had blurted out but Roman clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"Miss me, Trips?"

"Don't tell me..."

"Don't tell you what, Hunter? The truth? Let's talk about truth. Let's talk about you throwing me to the wolves..."

Hunter backed up slowly, motioning to Kane. "You asked for that match, Reigns."

Roman followed him like a childish chase, giggling uncontrollably. "You threw me out there so I'd get eaten...torn apart...just so you can replace me with someone I thought I loved...thought I could trust..."

"That's absurd--"

"But I came back, baby," Roman gave a feral grin and licked his lips. "The company of wolves suited me just fiiine...and now I'd like spread the love to you, and you..."

He turned to face the WWE Universe. "And aaaall of you..."

From what Seth understood, Dean was so livid he had to be sedated twice. And who could blame him? They had even upped security for Seth himself in case anyone tried to retaliate. But he wasn't even in this. That's what he told himself to sleep at night.

It was a weird sight, Dolph and Randy together. Despite his sociopathic ring tendencies, Randy was a surprisingly chill person to hang out with. Plus, Dolph had lost his actual buddy Zack Ryder quite some time ago. Probably to the club with the stupid name.

And so, Dolph and Randy were making small talk when a rather giggly and woozy Samoan leaned over them and laughed at their conversation. Randy actually jolted upright like he'd seen a ghost.

"Roman, uh...hey," Dolph tried. "How's..."

"Good," Roman said as if he understood. "How are y'all?"

Dolph looked at Randy and knew that both of them were creeped out and on guard.

"Good, I guess."

The thing in front of them was shaped like Roman and sounded like him, but it reminded Dolph of a body snatcher. A perfect copy that could never replace the original. Hell, he thought he was going to go babbling insane like Dean just from looking at it.

"Headed somewhere special?" Randy asked.

"Just this joint down the street. Looks good and cheap. Life is too short for bullshit, right?"

Dolph loathed himself for not standing up and knocking some sense into Roman's pretty little head, for not shouting him down until whatever demon was in him fled. But he was rooted to his stool. "Yeah. Right."

Apparently done with small talk, Roman flipped the two of them a peace sign and swayed out. He didn't know if Randy had the same valor he did, but he heard the man breathe a shaky sigh of relief when Roman finally left.

"I...cannot deal with that. It was just _wrong_."

"I can't believe it," Dolph muttered. "He's seriously gone."

Randy looked up and opened his mouth to say something, but he saw something just beyond Dolph's shoulder that horrified him.

"Shit. Dean."

"Aw, hell no. He's looking for Roman."

"He really...shouldn't."

 

Dean was groggy when he woke up the second time, alone. Figures. They probably hoped he'd just kill himself and be done with it. That's what they were always waiting on. He pulled on his leather jacket slowly and slowly made his way outside the room he was in, balancing himself along the wall.

He passed a few interns regarding him with puppy eyes and he thought he might vomit. Dolph had stopped him and repeatedly asked if he was okay, offering him water or anything else he needed, but backed off when Dean started growling.

"Unless you can tell me where my brother is, I don't need you."

"Dean, maybe he needs some space," Dolph offered diplomatically.

"Space? Space?" Dean was bordering on hysteria. "He just got mindraped by the goat messiah and you think he needs space?"

Fair enough. Dolph sighed. "I just think maybe...for the both of you...you should stay away."

Dolph found himself yanked by the roots to his knees with Dean's knee on his neck and the man was screaming and raining spittle on him.

" _Tell me where he is right now, or I will eat your fucking eyeballs!_ "

" Dean!" Randy's booming baritone interjected. "He's at a club, okay? The small one."

Dolph looked pissed but that fell away to resignation. It didn't matter. He let Dolph go and thanked Randy, and picked up his pace out the door.

Still, Dolph tried one more time. "Dean! I'm asking you...don't go."

"And why the fuck not?"

"It's over, man," Randy interjected. "This isn't like when Daniel was with 'em...you're not going to like what you find."

Dean flipped both men off and hailed a passing cab to the small club with the terrible name. He'd never give up on Roman, even when he had given up on himself.

The club's ambiance was very try-too-hard-to-be-80s, with neon pink and blue lights and bass heavy remixes of pop music.

Still, it wasn't hard to spot a huge Samoan dancing by himself on the floor.

He made his way over, the groggy feeling draining out of him and dread was replenishing it. When he grabbed Roman's arm the man immediately whipped around smiling. But it was wrong; this wasn't his brother at all.

"Wanna dance?"

"No, I don't--" Dean composed himself so that he wouldn't fall apart. "Roman, please. Come back with me, we can fix this."

"I don't need to be fixed."

Tears rolled down Dean's face before he could stop. "Why won't you let me help you? I'm--I'm not trying to replace you. That hurt so bad to hear from you. I'd never hurt you, you know that. I love you."

Roman's swaying was rhythmic and hypnotic when the music changed. "Oh little lamb, it's not you. It's them...they'll never let us be together."

Dean tried to grab Roman's arm but he jerked away with a finger wag.

"Uh-uh. Not unless you dance."

This game hurt most of all, hurt Dean to his very soul. After everything he'd lost in his life this had to be the worst. He was going to throw up and collapse all at the same time, a cold ball forming in his abdomen.

"When it was me, it was okay." His voice delirious and strained and thin, sinking under the club noise. "It was okay. I could handle it. I didn't...want help. I was fucking dumb. But with you, I just kept thinking why you?"

Roman's laughter swelled from a dark place and ate up Dean's pleading. He slipped a finger under the other man's chin and tipped his head up a little.

"Did you want to die?" he...no, that wasn't his voice. It sounded so much like fucking Wyatt's, Dean confirmed he was losing his mind.

But he had to confess, here on this public altar. "Yes."

"He wanted you to." Roman cupped Dean's face and leaned in. "Then he wouldn't have to worry so much. He knew you were coming...up behind his back. He wished you dead, baby."

Dean yanked his face away and started screaming, it could have been tongues for all he knew. This thing that had perverted his best friend and love of his life, he was going to kill it, kill it, killitkillit--

"You have no idea how much he hid from you..." Roman chuckled and straightened up. And like a waking nightmare, he was back to normal. "Sorry."

Dean blinked back tears, and what escaped from his eyes Roman wiped away with his thumb. Before jumping back just out of reach again.

"You really should just give up and dance. You won't be sad." He smiled with equal parts regret and blankness.

Dean's face burned where Roman touched it, his fingertips burned with the need to touch _him_. But Roman danced and swayed always just beyond, moved in circles around him until he thought he was going to scream.

"Ro, stop it!" He fisted his hands through his hair and the room swirled. "I'm sorry," he said breathlessly, "I'm so sorry for everything, I'll do anything you want. I need you. Just don't...leave me...alone..."

Roman pressed up against his leather clad back and sang. "You're not alone anymore, you shook me to the core..." And was gone.

The music blurred and skipped and Bray's laughter echoed throughout the club, a demonic siren's song. 

" _Run_."


	3. Call Me Big Bro (The Young Bucks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, a Young Bucks fill. I never thought I'd see the day. If it's not obvious this is brocest, and weeabooism.

"Come on."

"Dude!"

Matt threw his manga down on the bed in a huff. "It'll just be a few minutes."

"Who the fuck gets horny reading hentai?"

Matt raised his eyebrows like "are you serious?" And for Nick's information, he was reading a scanlated copy of _Lascivious Brothers_.

"Please. I mean, its not like I can do it myself... " Matt waved his arm enclosed in a neon cast like a white flag.

"Your fault."

"Pleeeease?"

Nick crossed his arms and pouted. "Just one scene?"

"Promise. Crawl on my lap and call me onii-chan!"

Nick sighed. He loved his brother, he really did, but being bedridden (not really) was driving Matt up a wall. He had no idea how Matt had stumbled onto the porn comic hub but now he was obsessed. Except he couldn't fuck himself silly like he wanted (although, Lord help him, he had tried. There were tears).

"Nii~ck," Matt whined, "onii-chan really needs your help."

"With what, Matt?" Nick crawled on the bed feigning innocence, eyeing his brother's growing bulge. He had to admit Matt's needy ass whining was getting him hot under the collar.

Matt bit his tongue with joy. "It just got like this..."

Matt fumbled with his pajama bottoms with his not-busted hand and pulled his length free, letting it slap against his stomach.

"How did that happen?"

"I dunno, but I gotta get rid of it! Just rub it a little..."

Nick palmed his brother's dick and stroked up and down languidly, before squeezing the base and relaxing his grip on the way up.

"Like thiiis?" He knew full well just like that. Matt just grunted his appreciation and rested his head against his arms and let his eyes close.

Nick let himself revel in the feel of Matt's dick pulsing against his hand; he loved the texture, rubbed his lips against it and teased the salty, leaking head. His hand was covered with precum because Matt always leaked so much, it was running down his shaft and to the balls where Nick took his tongue next. The first few times he tried that it was unbelievably gross, but now the smell and taste that used to repulse him was his aphrodisiac.

Matt's long body was locked in a desperate arch as Nick teased his orgasm out of it until he was chanting "ohshit". And that disintegrated into gibberish when he came, squirting all over Nick's hand. And a little on his chin. And eye. Everywhere.

" Thanks lil bro." Matt was in his loopy post-cum haze. Nick nodded, smiling.

"Yes, onii-chan." He rolled his eyes. Good lord.

Nick left his brother to that and cleaned himself up in their joint bathroom. Satisfied that he had all of Matt off his face, he headed to the living room to catch Forensic Files or a Law & Order marathon as one does on days off. His own hard on was rubbing painfully against his jeans. He shot a dirty look in his brother's general direction; Matt never reciprocated. He had his reasons, but Nick assumed he was just a selfish asshole.

Nick relaxed into the sofa and idly stroked himself while watching cartoons. Wasn't that about as fucked up as Matt? He tried not to think about it. He zoned out and didn't notice the clamor behind him until it was too late.

"What's Nick-chan doing?"

Nick jumped to the ceiling, dick still in his hand.

"I-I was just--uh--"

"Nick-chan is too innocent for such perverted things..." Matt leaned over the couch and practically snatched Nick's own cock out of his hands. "Leave this to onii-chan!"

"Matt, you said only one part!"

"Yeah, well whose jackin it to ninja turtles?" Matt muttered. "You want it or not?"

Nick could only blush and nod. Matt's not-busted hand was surprisingly elegant as he stroked, keeping constant eye contact with his brother.

"Look at me. Shit, you're so cute. I oughta fuck you right over the couch."

Nick grimaced and spread his legs a little more to let Matt manipulate his scrotum.

"Oh you like that? You want your pants around your ankles and you bent over the table right now?"

The image of himself being fucked silly in the kitchen bloomed in Nick's mind and be shifted his hips, thrusting up and fucking his brother's callous hands. Matt's eyes were hungry, watching his brother's delicious complexion redden and his Adam's apple Bob as his breaths came out as shuddering gasps until he came with a beautiful yell.

"Oni--Matt!"

Matt caught most of his brother's semen with his hand and his arms, just as long as he missed the couch. He stood up straight and realized he had a terrible cramp in his side from leaning over.

After a few minutes of silence, Matt suddenly threw his cast'd arm over his face.

"Gasp! I have corrupted my brother! I'm overcome with guilt! No seriously, when my hand gets better I'm gonna tear that ass up. Maybe before."

Nick turned the channel and hoped his anxious grin wasn't too obvious.


	4. #Work (Tamina/Paige/Naomi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Femslash thank the lord.

The bathroom was messy and slick with God knows what. There was a girl loudly throwing up two stalls down.

Paige shuddered and slowly slid off her thin black panties, exposing her wet cunt and the vibrator strapped to her thigh, set for a low hum.

_Put your dirty wet panties in someone's pocket. 5 min_

That was from Tamina. They had told her to hide their contacts in her phone but she was used to their texting styles by now and Tamina was far more demanding. Naomi was playful and was more interested in making her dance for some reason.

"You want us to help you, but it ain't gonna come free," was how this all began earlier in the day.

Paige had considered her choices, she really had. The Bellas weren't going down without cooperative help from the whole Divas locker room and Paige hadn't exactly made herself any friends. Something Tamina had pointed out.

"You should be glad we're even considering it. Kissing our feet really."

The look in Tamina's eyes told Paige she wasn't just making hyperbole for hyperbole's sake. Naomi was smirking too. Paige felt sick and even sicker when she slowly lowered herself to the floor to kiss their boots.

Naomi abruptly reached down and grabbed her hair, yanking hard. "Come with us tonight and if you do everything we say exactly, for two hours, we'll...see about it."

And that's how Paige ended up crawling through the club for some unsuspecting man to throw her soaked panties at with three minutes to spare, eagerly hoping to please Tamina so her next text would be "good girl".

She spotted a red haired gentleman in a nice suit talking up some vacant-faced brunette. She sidled up behind him and made a shushing motion to the other woman. Quickly, she slipped the underwear into his pocket before he could slide his hand in and slipped back into the dancing crowd, reveling in the man's face cycling between shock disgust arousal.

Her phone twinkled a moment later.

_good girl_

She breathed a sigh of relief that had the unintended effect of pushing the vibrator bullet closer. She jumped and yelped, the noise lost in the throb of the music.

_ha-ha. Now go twerk on that girl with the green pixie cut >:)_

Paige looked around; who fit that description? They must be nearby. The club was rather dark with the only decent lighting being on the stage. The stage...

Of course. The girl with the pixie cut was one of the strippers, with particularly luscious breasts that glistened with sweat and glitter. She looked elegant on her spinning pole, hanging upside down with no hands. Paige's mouth watered. She hoped the woman would be a good sport about it.

She waited until the girl dropped down again and a new song started. Paige attempted to make her intentions known by dancing up to the side of the stage and taking a tentative step. The men hooted but the stripper looked a bit...miffed. Maybe not such a good sport.

Paige waltzed around the pole and attached herself to the girl immediately, whipping around and dropping low so that her ass grazed against the girl's thighs. She wiggled down until she was at a complete squat and spread her legs, then raised up again with the slightest wiggle; on her way up, the girl whispered in her ear.

"...you got a fat ass though, so..."

Paige felt one hand gripping her ass and the other hand slide under her skimpy club dress and gasped. She woman's fingers circled around her protruding clit and Paige knew she felt the vibrator egg too. Paige pulled herself out of the woman's grasp and hopped off stage, her face hot and flushed.

Her phone twinkled again. Paige's palms sweated as she opened her texts.

_HAHAHAHAHA WHY DID YOU STOP?_

Fuck. She had disobeyed on accident. For punishment the vibrator speed increased dramatically and she cried out next to someone. She dashed off looking for somewhere to be alone a moment, her thighs were trembling and her legs hurt. She was gasping when she sat down at the bar and ordered a drink.

Another text. With shaking hands she checked her phone again.

_Come find us. 3 minutes_

The bullet dulled again so Paige could walk reasonably, and she slid off her bar stool leaving her drink behind. Her eyes darted around the dark club. They weren't too far away.

As luck would have it, they were only two booths away with one minute to spare. Both were dressed in white bodycon dresses and gold and silver jewelery, and Naomi had her hair back in braids. Goddesses.

Paige hobbled over to the booths and meekly stood in front of them, presenting herself. Both women wore vicious grins. Naomi was laughing.

"Having fun out there?" said Naomi. Paige stayed silent.

"Sit over here."

Tamina patted a spot next to her and Paige sat down. Naomi was holding the vibrator control in her hands and shut it off completely. For the first time, Paige noticed the spot where the egg was had gone numb.

"You got...an hour left, I guess," Naomi said flippantly then looked to Tamina. "Let's make her go really far."

Tamina's jewellery chimed as she clapped. "Spread your legs, let's see that pussy."

Paige blushed deeply and spread her legs wide, clear strands dripping from her pink lightly haired lips. The next sounds she heard were mutual cackling.

"Look at you, nasty. Naaasty."

"You look like you been coming for days. Spread your lips."

Paige did as she was told and was ashamed at what slipped out of her; she was ridiculously wet from this little game and just wanted her captors to let her cover up again.

"Aww! What a pretty pink pussy," Tamina said.

"Th-thank you."

"Put the vibrator right on the very tip of your clit."

"But--people can see!"

Neither Tamina nor Naomi looked amused with Paige's refusal.

"Do it. Now."

Close to tears, Paige unstrapped the bullet from her thigh and placed it just against the edge of her clit.

The vibrator went off so hard it nearly slipped from her fingers and she cried out, winced and jerked. Naomi laughed and shook the controller.

"Oops, butter fingers."

That made Tamina laugh harder.

Naomi turned the vibrator off again. "Ready to cum?"

"Yes..."

"Ask Tamina."

Paige finally made eye contact with Tamina. "T-Tamina, can I...please c-cum?"

"Hmm..." Tamina peered behind Paige to an otherwise oblivious couple behind them. "Asssk...her!"

Paige laid down without prompting and cleared her throat. The woman turned around and her eyes widened at the sight, her face red under all her make up.

"M-may I please cum?" Paige thought she would die of shame as Naomi howled.

"Um, y-yes," the woman stammered and quickly turned away but didn't move.

Naomi turned the vibrator on at a more reasonable speed and Paige came with a squeal, her legs jerking up and her toes curling inside her stilettos.

In her haze, Paige's vision darkened and she felt the soft, perfumed weight of Naomi covering her face with her own surprisingly wet pussy.

"Good girl," she said with half lidded eyes. "That was enough to get us on your side, but if you want a win you better lick that shit real good."

Paige eagerly pushed her tongue up into the soft wetness, not giving a damn who was watching anymore, just wanting to be rewarded and all too happy to pay the cost of allyship.


	5. You're Beautiful, Even If It's All Fake (Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cosplaying! Can you guess who Mister Sinister is? More or less non-wrestling AU. Mild warning for bullying/con harassment which I wish went as smoothly as it does here.

Roman watched the situation from afar, at first, intently. He hated Sheamus, didn't know how the man managed to keep getting back in after every damn time Roman put him out for harassing cosplayers in the hall. He could hear the man's thick accent from way over here.

"Lookit ya, ya...what are ya, anyway?"

"Just stop."

His new target was a tall, rather slim but not nerd-slim guy wearing green and yellow latex and a headband like it was amateur wrestling night. He was handling the situation but looked to be getting tired of Sheamus's persistence. His eyes darted around and landed on Roman.

'Oh god help' his eyes said. Roman nodded and bounded over, so ready to beat Sheamus's ass.

"Hey!"

Sheamus started and nearly ran like a roach.

"Officer Roman is it," he muttered with an eye roll. "I was just teasing the lad."

"He's clearly uncomfortable, you dick. First I'm going to kick you out, then I'm gonna ban you so hard from this con your great-grandkids won't even be able to come."

"Oh no, not the banhammer!" Sheamus straightened up and started walking away on his own accord. Roman feinted after him then grabbed his walkie-talkie.

"Dean, that sumbitch Sheamus is back. Do what you must."

"Oh shit, again? I got him. Ten-four."

Roman frowned and hitched the walkie-talkie back to his belt.

"I'm sorry, he's a problem. I don't know who's dick he keeps sucking to get back in here but--"

The cosplayer laughed so hard he doubled over. "It's okay, its okay! Thank you for saving me."

"No problem. You look real familiar, like..." Roman mulled over the sight before him. Latex, the blond streak in his hair...a vague melody popped in his head and suddenly his childhood rushed back.

"Oh! Oh, you're from the X-Men...ol girl with the streak."

"Rogue!"

"Yeah!" Roman suddenly dropped to his knees in mock-cowering. "Oh, don't touch me without your gloves!"

The boy-Rogue laughed again and Roman was beginning to like the noise. "I won't! Yeah, I love Rogue! I'm supposed to be genderbent, but I guess her costume was unisex."

"That's cool. I was gonna be, like, Namor or something but I had to work. My cuz is Black Adam somewhere."

Dude-Rogue stuck out his tongue. "Bleh! DC." A faint blush grew across his bearded cheeks. "You'd make a cool Namor..."

"Thanks. I was gonna wear the body suit, not the trunks." Guy-Rogue's blush deepened and Roman thought that was rather promising.

"I'm Roman, by the way." Roman flicked his name tab.

"In boring real life, I'm Seth." Seth shook Roman's hand and smiled.

"Do you have some friends to get back to? Or I'll just be your bodyguard."

"Oh, yeah, I think they're all still in hall B or something. I was asking that guy for directions."

"I'll take you over there. And here." Roman handed the young man a map. "Let's go."

The walk to hall B was short but just long enough for Roman and Seth to fill up with conversations about their favorite comic story lines, Harry Potter, dumb movie adaptations, and games. So many games. By the time they had caught up with Seth's friends, the two of them were laughing so hard they were red, finishing each other's sentences.

Roman expected a whole X-Men crew but the group was rather eclectic.

"Hmm, let's see... Mister Sinister, the Terminator, a catgirl, and...these two...?"

Jamie, dressed in a purple parka, sighed. "We're Ice Pickers."

"Oh! I remember that game. Wow. That's a throwback for real." Roman pretended to ignore the catgirl and Terminator drooling over him and turned back to Seth.

"Okay. All safe and sound. If Sheamus gives y'all any shit just let me know."

Roman turned to leave (slowly) and stopped midstep when Seth called out.

"W-wait a sec," he stammered. "I know you can't hang right now, but do you wanna like...do something later?"

"I was gonna hit up this place down the street. They got dope ass cheesecake."

"Okay, we'll come..." Seth turned around to see his crew vigorously shaking their heads. "I'll come?"

"It's a date," Roman said with a wink. "Put my number in your phone and text me."

"Okay..." Seth took his phone out of his satchel and put the numbers in as Roman called them out. He smiled secretly to himself. "I'll keep my gloves on."

Roman laughed. "I'll bring my Namor wings. Y'all tell Xavier I said hi."

Roman left this time, smugly smiling at Seth's friends whooping behind him as he walked away. They'd have so much more than comics to talk about tonight.


	6. Butterfly Kit (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little Audition-inspired and did you know Brock is an evil scientist? Big warnings for non-con, forced orgasm, and drug usage and getting sold out by your own TV mom and dad. Damn!

Seth wasn't an idiot, he knew he had a giant target on his back. He'd swatted away all these unworthy flies one by one, but there was one big, ugly bull in the room he couldn't get rid of.

One Brock Lesnar.

Yeah, the target on his back had been painted just for that asshole. And surely concern for his own safety was the reason he was with Triple H and Stephanie right now.

At least he hoped that was concern on their faces and not, say, disappointed scowling.

"You know, Seth," Triple H said with a groan of annoyance, "there's running your mouth and then there's being stupid."

That stung. Seth bit his lip and looked down.

"The position you put us in is..." Stephanie sighed like a harried businesswoman. Stereotypes was all Seth could afford to think of right now.

"Let's talk about how nothing has gone right since he came back from suspension. How if Heyman hadn't been running his mouth--"

"How if you hadn't gone out there and taunted the man half of my team wouldn't be in the hospital or sitting at home watching reruns!" Triple H shot up and Seth thought he was going to flip the desk. Stephanie did too, because she quickly got up. Seth was willing to take his punishment but if there was one thing he couldn't stand it was blame. No, two things: blame and the truth.

"But we can fix this! You can fix anything."

"I wish that were true!"

"You called the Undertaker, didn't you? That will distract him if not kill him."

Stephanie blinked. "You think we did that? We can't control how he comes and goes, no one can."

"The...then..."

"I need a drink," Triple H said abruptly. He disappeared in the back of the office for a while and came back with three stemless wine glasses and what looked like chardonnay. "Everyone does."

"Hunter, we actually need to step outside."

"Just a drink first."

"Hunter--"

"Come on Seth, have one with the old man."

Seth watched the heightened tension between his surrogate parents with interest. There were several things wrong with this scene: he knew for a fact Hunter didn't drink off-camera; Stephanie was grinding her teeth all of a sudden and her eyes looked unfocused; where did that wine come from?

Seth was from a family of snakes, so when Triple H poured him a glass and Seth callously poured it back out on the floor, he knew his dad would understand. Triple H smiled stiffly.

"No fun to drink alone, so I hear. Let's talk outside, Stephanie. I'm a little dizzy."

As the two of them stepped out, Seth had to admit he was a bit dizzy himself. When he stood to stretch, the room spun. What time was it, anyway? There were no clocks. Only the dark colored walls and the vents pumping out cool air. It was so refreshing in here, the tingle of air in his throat and the smell of wine.

There was a weird taste in Seth's mouth. Something wasn't right. He was coughing a bit, like he couldn't quite get air down. He was dizzier now and on his knees, his vision blurry. He started crawling for the door even though some distant intuition told him it was locked. Just like he finally noticed the fine mist in the room making his skin clammy.

"It wasn't--the wine--" he choked out before everything went dark.

 

Because someone had a flair for the dramatic, when he awoke Seth was strapped to a metal table in what looked like a morgue. Why? He could hear voices just out of his eyesight.

"...the title and you..."

"Of course. And if you...the Undertaker..."

Shit. He thrashed for their attention, yelled. Stephanie and Triple H appeared over him, shushing him like a baby.

"Please--out of here--"

"Shh, now. It's going to be okay."

Seth knew good and damn well nothing would be okay. That's why when Steph and Triple H disappeared out of his line of sight, he started screaming, slurring.

"What are you doing! You can't leave me here!"

"I'm fixing things, Seth," Triple H said sardonically, far away. Then to someone else, "Try to return him physically unscathed."

Fuck. Fuck. He'd been sold out, or bought in. By his own surrogate parents. He always knew Triple H would never shy from tough business decisions, but what fucking part of the game was this?

A syringe appeared in his vision next, and its holder wiggled it like a rattle in front of a baby.

"Calm down." Two words. Two words more loaded than "suplex city" in the same menacing tone.

Brock's meaty head appeared behind the syringe. He wore a pair of scholarly glasses and white gloves.

"Br-Brock..."

"That's Brrrock Lesnarrrr to you," the man said, doing a fair impression of his manager. Then, after a moment, "A bitch am I?"

Brock retracted and grabbed Seth's arm. He swiped the area with an alcohol pad.

Because he wasn't stupid, Seth started pleading. "Brock. Listen. You can have me, you can have the belt, you can have my mother just please please please--"

"I have a mom," Brock said nonchalantly. With surprisingly delicate fingers he pierced Seth's arms and depressed. 

Time stopped. Seth wasn't sure how long it took for the solution to take effect, but next thing He knew he was hot. So hot. Trembling like his blood sugar was low. So hot and restless and sweating.

Brock watched with clinical interest. Like a kid with a butterfly kit, dissecting. From a table off to the side, he picked up another object: a massage wand. Never used for that purpose. Fuck. 

Without a sound, Brock switched the wand on and pressed it against Seth's limp dick. Seth watched himself go from zero to a thousand in two damn seconds and, goddamnit, he came on the spot.

Brock moved the wand away and to his horror Seth realized he wasn't done.

"More?"

"No!"

Brock nodded and picked up the syringe again, pricked Seth's arm, wand again. Seth came with again with a weak scream and thrashed.

Again and again, Brock played the game with him. More? Syringe, depress, wand, cum. They went though more syringes than Seth could count but he was never finished. Crazily, at some point he thought if he answered the questions the opposite way Brock would stop and let him go.

"Good, you agree."

Seth's face was covered in spit and a trickle of blood from his nose. His eyes were unfocused and darkness was creeping into the edges.

"To answer your question, I can have you, ten belts, and this whole fuckin' company whenever I want. I don't need your permission, shit for brains. I'm going to watch you cum yourself to death then throw you back to mommy and daddy. And maybe one of them is next."

When the wand hit him again Seth howled and wondered, he'd done everything right, so smart, trusted the right people, how could he had been so. Fucking. Stupid.


	7. Complexity Addict (Daniel Bryan/Kane)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when it was funny because we thought Daniel was a virgin and wow how did that get on a PG show. Listen, write more Kane/Daniel fic. I don't care if it's been like 5 years

"What do you mean that wasn't your first time!"

"I never said it was."

It had been perfect. Daniel had bought lavender and chamomile scented candles--organic--and tossed rose petals all over the placed. They'd showered. They'd chased each other around the room before a long night of consummating their volatile relationship. And now Kane was sitting here telling him that night was not nearly as special to him as it was to Daniel.

Kane lowered his magazines from his face to see Daniel's lip quivering and his eyes shining. Oh God.

"What even made you think that?" he said somewhat defensively. Daniel burst into a whiny wail.

"C-c-cause you've spent your whole life being locked up in a basement and-and fighting your brother and doing evil things and-and--how many times, Kane? How many?!"

Kane rolled his eyes in thought. "Umm...like..."

"You don't remember! Not even with other men?"

"Oh. Three times."

Daniel felt somewhat more relieved but now he had to go hunt down three men. Later.

"You just stood over me, I thought you were scared. Was...was I not good?"

"You were fine. I'm just not...very vocal."

Daniel's pout deepened; now he was just "fine"? His ego was so bruised it was prepared to quit.

"Oh yeah? I'll make you vocal. How you like them apples."

A deep, dark laugh bubbled from Kane 's lips but Daniel's wounded pride didn't realize it was more at his indignant phrasing of "dem apples". He vowed revenge and scurried off.

Kane shook his head and kept reading his issue of _Pyros Weekly_.

The next time Daniel invited Kane to his room, the decorations were decidedly more...gothic. Sheer black drapes hanging from the ceiling and possibly illegal votive candles. Kane cocked his head.

"What is...?"

Daniel sprang up from the bed and almost immediately pressed his whole body against Kane's, practically climbing up his seven foot frame for leverage. Kane found himself shoved up against the wall and his leg hooked in Daniel's arm wrap around his waist. Despite the shorter man's best attempts he was slowly sliding down the wall at an angle.

When Kane tried to take control of the situation, Daniel shoved back harder.

"Come on, we're gonna fall."

"Let's go to the bed, then."

Daniel dragged them back to the bed--covered in black silk sheets, of course--and whipped Kane around to shove him back down. Kane rolled his eyes when the smaller man climbed on top.

"I know what you're doing, and it's physically impossible."

Daniel made a trail of kisses all over his torso and totally ignored him.

"Why don't we--"

Daniel rolled off him and sat up.

"You're right. This is crazy. Idea..." Daniel pondered a moment before his face lit up. "I know! You ride me!"

Kane choked on his own air. "What--I mean--no--"

"Come on! It's gonna work!"

Before Kane could protest about more practical things like crushing Daniel's pelvis before either of them came properly, Daniel attacked him again with...a gentle kiss on the neck. Damnit, he _hated_ when Daniel got gentle with him. His lower regions were already tingling and he could feel his face heating up.

Daniel smirked into Kane's thick neck. He knew exactly where his hot spots were and he took advantage of every. Single. One. He pushed Kane's top down to expose more of his chest to latch onto a nipple to great effect; he rubbed his own growing bulge against Kane's inner thigh to get him to open up more.

He pulled Kane on top of his lap and it was stupidly awkward but not too bad. Kane was at least too distracted to scold him. He wasn't ready to admit just yet that this was a bad idea and Kane was right, so he leaned back slowly and let Kane slide on top of him.

Kane rolled off to the side and started stripping his pants off, because for some reason letting Daniel see him completely naked was their final frontier. Not even a little tease. Daniel stripped in the same clinical way and started lubing himself up.

"I still don't really--hng!" Kane's protests were silenced by Daniel's lips on his cock and fingers up his ass. Daniel started humming, presumably talking but all Kane felt was the vibrations against his dick and it made him melt inside. He gripped the sheets and arched his back.

Daniel came up for air. "Feel okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Ready?"

Kane would never admit it out loud but the minute Daniel withdrew his fingers he wanted...something else there again. Daniel's cock standing at attention looked like it would do the trick.

He placed his hands--carefully--on Daniel's chest as he positioned himself. Daniel helped out by maneuvering his hips and guiding himself with the other hand. Like he was playing with porcelain, he Kane slowly aligned himself and slid down until he had taken Daniel in to the hilt.

"Okay?" he asked hesitantly when Daniel's eyes rolled back.

"Your weight is amazing."

Daniel did indeed feel like was going to snap although he could bench press guys like Kane for breakfast, but the sensation managed to get him off even more. Seeing his lover bite his lip shyly and start moving back and forth threatened to make him come that second. But this wasn't everything he wanted.

Daniel dug his heels in and arched abruptly; Kane yelped with the movement and tried to keep up with Daniel, who was quickening the pace and stroking his cock him time. He gripped Daniel's chest and hunched over, his thighs already trembling.

When he came it was with a grunt and a loud sigh, splattering seed somewhere near Daniel's chest area and precariously close to his beard. He rolled off contentedly and allowed himself the luxury of resting his head against Daniel's shoulder.

Daniel allowed himself to feel totally awesome for a while before realizing that yet again Kane was largely silent the whole time.

"Good?"

"Not nearly as awkward as I thought."

Daniel thought he heard a soft "love you" but he was too busy plotting his next depraved acts.  
~~~

Kane also hated the fact that Daniel managed to corner him in his locker room all the damn time. Like a little poltergeist that he just so happened to like a lot.

"Hey there."

Kane was shoving his worldly possessions into a duffel bag. Daniel raised an eyebrow.

"You look like you're running away. Am I that bad?" he said with a nervous laugh.

Kane sighed heavily. "It's not you. And I'm not running away."

"Where are you going...?"

Kane shot him a look that told Daniel that was none of his damn business. He nodded wordlessly and shrugged.

"At least you'll be back...right?"

"I always come back."

Daniel sat down on a nearby bench and started kicking his legs with a forlorn look on his face. Kane sighed and dropped his bag.

"It's nothing bad," he said at length, "just...family stuff."

"I'll just miss you, that's all. Could we...before you go...?"

Kane immediately straightened up. "Is that all you came here for?!"

Daniel put his hands up defensively. "N-no! It just happened! And when were you gonna tell me you were leaving, huh?!"

"You're not my dad!"

"Maybe I should be! Someone needs to keep you in line!" 

Before Kane could reach in his pouch for something heavy and hard to throw, Daniel threw his arms around his broad waist and held on tight.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I blew up at you. That was the anger talking." 

The two of them stayed that way for a few minutes, until Kane felt & heard Daniel kissing around his hips. So that's what he was really there for; he couldn't act like he wasn't going to happily oblige, at least he was in control this time. 

Or so he hoped. Daniel sat back and crossed his arms in that way Kane always found cute and irritating.

"What is it now?"

Daniel silently pointed at Kane and waggled his finger. When Kane cocked his head, Daniel huffed.

"Body suit. Off."

"Completely?"

"How else am I gonna suck your dick? Strip." 

Kane sputtered at that, would have blushed if he had the capacity. Instead, he slowly obeyed, coming out of his boots and wrestling gear until only his mask--his true face--remained. 

"Aren't you going to...?"

Daniel was busy drinking in the sight of Kane fully nude and cowering away from him like a voyeur, memorizing all the planes, dips, every immaculate detail. He reached his hands out and gingerly rested them on Kane's hips, not pulling or tugging but letting the other man creep towards him. 

Being naked made Kane feel vulnerable in a deeper sense than just defenseless, and having Daniel stare at him didn't help. But it was an approving gaze, something he seldom experienced in his life. He was usually met with disgust, derision, or curiosity. He wanted to know what Daniel approved of. 

When Kane drifted close enough, Daniel nuzzled his thighs, gripped his ass, ran his tongue hungrily against his hardening shaft. Kane winced and squirmed at the rough beard on his skin and the cold tongue against his cock. He finally loosened his hands that had balled into white-knuckle fists and rooted them at the base of Daniel's head.

Daniel pushed back a little with a smirk.

"That's not a very nice way of asking. What do you want me to do?" 

Kane grunted and sighed; he knew the smaller man was never going to let this go. 

"I want...you... to..."

" _Say it_." 

"Suck me."

Daniel's smirk widened into a vicious grin that made Kane shudder. Daniel took in his length slowly, almost painfully slow, letting the tip hit the back of his throat and his eyes roll up as he exhaled and hummed. He worked his throat as he sucked, taking time to swirl his tongue around the head and massage his ball sack. Kane was slumped over, thrusting his hips at an erratic pace like he wasn't in control of himself and grunting low in his throat punctuated by Daniel's exaggerated slurps and smacks. 

Kane's orgasm was building but Daniel wouldn't let him get too far with his hands still digging into his hips and his head wouldn't go any faster than the agonizingly slow pace he had set up. Kane found himself grunting and whining in frustration, loud enough to let it be known but not quite loud enough to draw any unwanted attention if anyone was still hanging around. 

Daniel didn't accept that and pinched the inside of Kane's thigh hard enough to leave a dark bruise in his wake.

"Ow!" 

Daniel wrapped his legs around Kane's like the tree trunk that man was and...stopped. He looked up, smiling in a way that told Kane that on the verge of his release he was really, really not going to let this go.

"Say you want me to let you come."

Kane's voice lumped up in his throat, just like when he was younger. He tried to speak, tried to say things, he really did, but nothing ever came out right in the heat of the moment and he was mute, ashamed of himself. He hated, hated, hated it but nothing compared to the expectant look on his lover's face and that gaze that coaxed him out of it, those eyes that looked at him with wonder like he was everything good in the world. 

Kane heaved with need and desire and shame, "Pleasepleaseplease--"

Daniel honestly didn't expect Kane to actually beg him, get mad sure but "please" turned him on like nothing else he'd ever experienced and he wanted more. He dug his fingers in so deep that he was pretty sure he was going to puncture the skin and dragged Kane back in, let his dick flop against his tongue before he took him in long enough to pull him back to the edge.

"Don't you dare come yet," he admonished and Kane let out a sob. "Not until you say it."

"Please--" 

Daniel wrapped his hand around the base of Kane's dick and rested his lips against the tip. "That's not what I want to hear."

Kane was dizzy from standing, arousal, and trying to keep control but control was failing him fast. He was in a strange, fuzzy headspace that felt like smoke or fog and the only exit was to say the magic phrase Daniel wanted to hear.

"Please...let me...come..." 

Daniel lowered his hands and took Kane's length again with no reservations and Kane thrust his hips, skullfucking him until he came and didn't think he would ever stop. He slumped up against the wall and slid down in a heap only to be cuddled by Daniel moments later. He didn't mind. This time.

"How was it?" Daniel asked soothingly, failing to mention how far out of hand his whole "plot" had gotten. At least it generated results.

"Weird."

"Coming from you, that's very ambiguous." 

Kane didn't say anything else to that, letting himself drift off for a few blissful moments. Until the reality of the situation filtered back into his mind and he found himself scrambling back up and looking for his clothes.

"Oh that's right... you're leaving."

When Daniel started pouting again Kane averted his eyes. "I told you I'd be back. Don't start that again, that's how we got in this." 

"I'm fine now, I have something to remember you by for a while."

Daniel smirked--a look that was becoming eerily familiar to Kane and arousing in a Pavlovian way--and made a show of smacking his lips. Kane and let the other man pull him in for a kiss, refusing to admit out loud that that felt more like home than anything else ever would.


	8. His Own Blue-Eyed Hell (Triple H/A kitten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My other most favorite of all, kittens! Prophetically, not long after I wrote this I found a couple of silver kittens. Bless you Triple H!!

Hunter would borrow Sweet Chin Music one more time and kick Joey Mercury to hell if he could. He really would.

He should have done it days ago when Joey brought the damn thing to his attention. Right in the hotel lobby, a little trembling ball of platinum fur.

"We found 'im inside the company car," Jamie had said. Err, translated since he kept peeking at Joey. "A silver kitten! Looks like he burned his whiskers and tongue."

Hunter nearly asked why they didn't just take the thing to Seth, but he paused. Remember how much Seth had lost his shit at the stray puppy? So unbecoming all over YouTube. Those videos were popping up faster than he could take them down.

"Take it to a shelter then."

"But Triple H, we tried! None of em in the area are no kill!" Jamie pleaded. Oh no, Hunter knew where this was going; he started backing away.

"It's a cute kitten, he'll get adopted in no time."

"She," Joey said softly.

The kitten's head unfurled from her mass of downy fur, her ears perked up and she focused big, shiny blue eyes on Hunter. Her whiskers were a bit frayed at the ends and charred. A strangled "mew?" was all she said and Hunter's heart exploded a little.

So here he is, wrapped up in a shawl like a bad Christmas present from your grandmother with a warm bottle of milk supplement and a warm kitten in the other. Stephanie was long asleep. Meanwhile, the kitten was so underweight she fit in the palm of his hands even though she was about 3 weeks--Hunter knew this because he had Googled growth charts, damnit. That was also how he found out how to get rid of her fleas, so he and J&J spent a cramped night in a bathroom with some Dawn dish soap, towels, alcohol, and flea combs.

She would get big after a few days of feeding and vet visits. He'd kept her well hidden so far--sneaking in suitcases, wrapping her up in his suit jacket for a meeting. She was so quiet he wondered if she'd ever purr.

"The girls will love her," he'd blurted out one day in earshot of one of his secret-keepers.

"Rrright," Jamie drawled, making a paper airplane.

Hunter bristled and he was pretty sure Starla did too--wait, when did he name her? This was going too far.

No, going too far was chasing a suddenly energetic kitten around a square room with a wet towel so she would poop properly. This was worse than children because children listened. This was hell. He created his own blue-eyed hell.

"Mrow?"

Goddamnit. Why can't he stay mad anymore? Seth Rollins could lose his title to Zack Ryder in an Inferno match right now and he wouldn't care. It was like he had laser-guided amnesia. What was he doing before giving her a bath? Fuck.

He finally handed the thing over to Stephanie because he was losing his mind. Her fur was like cashmere and her eyes crystal clear; Stephanie was confounded.

"You bought a kitten? Or...is this someone's?"

His mouth was dry. "Her name is Starla and she's coming home." He took his cat back and sulked off again.


	9. Sad Girl Time (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad girl time, adj: watching your favorite depressing parts in an anime purely to feel depressed. 
> 
> Chronic weeabooism ahead, and potential anime spoilers (I guess?)

Tyson threw his gym towel to signal his arrival back to the hotel room. His partner was too busy crying over episode three of _Puella Magi Madoka Magica_.

Cesaro gasped and quickly shut his laptop lid but his eyes were still ringed with red.

"Problem?" Tyson asked like a troll. "Having a little sad girl time?"

"I-I was watching Vegeta's first death again," Cesaro said. "Always gets me choked up."

"It gets worse," Tyson said nonchalantly. "Then you get to _Rebellion Story_ , and..."

"No spoilers!" Cesaro yelled even though he had been spoiling himself all along with yuri doujinshi.

Tyson laid across the bed, ass in the air. "I haven't watched a good Rumiko show in a while. Wanna do Ranma?"

"Speaking of overrated," Cesaro muttered. Tyson rolled over and shot up.

"You take that back!"

"Death first!"

Tyson slapped the big man with a pillow and they rolled around for a bit, unable to take themselves seriously. Chronic weeabooism will do that to you.

A few sweaty minutes later they lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Cesaro nestled in the crook of Tyson 's arm.

"Madoka is my sad girl time," Cesaro said, voice a little bubbly. "I can't believe they did that to Mami."

"Wait til you see Sayaka." Tyson paused. "You know what my sad girl time is?"

"Hmm?"

" _Magic Knights Rayearth_."

Cesaro's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"I own all that shit. Manga, OVAs, figurines...man. I cried on the last ep. I related to Fuu so much in high school."

"That's...comforting but pathetic."

Tyson 's lip quivered. "I just opened my heart! You told me about Vegeta!"

Cesaro snorted. "I didn't realize this was your therapy session."

"It's such a good story," Tyson insisted. "One of the best swerves in anime. We didn't knoooow!"

"I never saw it."

"We'll watch it and you'll see. You'll forget all about Madoka. I mean it's good, but this is CLAMP."

"Yeah, yeah fanboy. Night."

Tyson waited until he was pretty sure Cesaro was snoring away, then pulled up YouTube on his phone. He needed a little sad girl time.


	10. Good Save (Titus O'Neill/Dolph Ziggler)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me doesn't like this one as much but part of me is also like fuck it Titus O'Neil deserves all the blowjobs.

Byron looked at Dolph skeptically.

"We have time, you sure you don't want some water or...?"

"I'm fine," Dolph said, deadpan, and crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He pushed some clumps of hair back. He knew how he looked.

It couldn't possibly be because just a half hour ago he was getting his face fucked so hard he thought his neck would snap. Titus loved to bring him up at an angle so his dick was hitting the back of his throat just right. Dolph had come well before he did and thought he would again when he spied Darren beating off precariously close to his back.

He knew how he looked and he thought he could pass it off for victory flush but he knew Byron wasn't buying it. He might as well be leaking spunk from his ears. But he had to roll with his sore lips and neck and act like he could form a coherent sentence.

Fuck, Titus felt like velvet in his mouth and he loved it when Dolph got sloppy. It was so, so fucking loud and nasty and he really shouldn't be thinking about this right now because he's already kind of fucked up. Would Byron taste the same? Would anyone judge if he jumped him right now?

There was a slam of lockers and heavy feet behind them; they whipped around in time to see PTP running up and laughing, Titus doing his Q Dawg bark in Byron's face. He slapped Dolph's back on the way up and out.

Thank God. Dolph used the distraction to get his pulse back down.

"On second thought, I will take that water."


	11. No Fucks Given (Seth Rollins/Kevin Owens)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out if you've ever felt like shit in a relationship because you weren't as conventionally attractive/ideal as your partner 
> 
> Mild content warning for body issues

Kevin had stolen Seth's phone again, like he always does when he's bored and Seth is too busy doing The Crossfitting to pay much attention to him. Just kidding, he was doing yoga with his pup. Well, the dog was on his back, reclining. Kind of? He was never going to call the tiny pup by his name, by the way.

"See anything you like in there?" Seth called from his cobra position.

"Just a bunch of mark ass comments and thirsty marriage proposals," Kevin called back. Even briefly glancing at Seth's Instagram comments on accident caused him physical pain. But at least it was full of people threatening to kill him or hijack his sperm; Kevin's social media was usually full of twelve year olds telling him he's too fat to wrestle. Sigh.

He scrolled down Seth's feed even though he's seen the whole thing...the WHOLE thing at least twenty times. Maybe more.

There was a dull pop and "ow" from the living room as Seth stood up and took his next position.

"Not gonna do it..." Kevin said, trailing off as he ran across the picture of himself and Seth holding their respective titles, smiling triumphantly and with pithy little song lyrics down at the bottom because that's just what Seth _does_. He didn't need to click to know what was under it, he'd seen it already. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact that he looked like the hobbit to Seth's Legolas. 

Comments about his weight and appearance had ceased to bother Kevin at this point, or rather they had until he met Seth.

Another loud pop and "ow".

"You're not very good at this," Kevin called in a mock posh British accent. TinyDog skittered in, apparently bored and ready to massage Kevin's slippered feet.

"Shut your mouth," Seth whined. "You get in here and do it."

"Nah."  
~~~~

_Even before the whole blond streak thing, Kevin thought Seth's features made him pretty striking. He was one of those dudes that magically had the perfect bronze tan with or without sun and his stubble made him look mildly dangerous with none of the George Michael setbacks._

_Just kidding, he is and was a big ol' emo kid. A cute dork. And he looked positively nervous sweating in this Starbucks._

_"S-so I heard you were with that El Generico guy," he said, staring down into his latte-somethingsomething in this inferior Timmy Ho's._

_"Yeah, but that ended a while ago. Badly."_

_That oddly enough gave Seth a shot of confidence. He tilted his head up and smiled._

_"Good. I was gonna chair shot him myself if you were still taken!"_

_Kevin stopped stirring his drink. "Ex-squeeze me?"_

_"I...like-like you, Kevin..."_

_"If this is a joke or someone put you up to it, you can stop now."_

_Seth's expression crumbled into insulted. "Do you really think I'd pay for Starbucks just to come in here and fuck with you?" After noticing the college kids staring at him, he sat down and got quiet. "I--I like bigger men if that's what you mean."_

_"'Bigger' could mean anything and you look like a size queen. Fat dudes."_

_"Okay, sure. But I'm not a chaser, I promise. No one takes me seriously. How can I get you to take me seriously?"_

_Kevin worried his lip in thought. "Two weeks. Fuck on the second date."_  
~~~~~~

After all this time Kevin really did take Seth seriously at his bluff, but still even after all this time his pride and cumbersome feelings had a way of making him think he knew what Seth wanted better than the man himself. Only a lifetime of bullshit could make the mind such a damned labyrinth.

So Kevin thought nothing of deleting the photo and tossing Seth's phone on the couch. He picked up TinyDog and met Seth in the kitchen for lunch, which consisted of a steak burger as big as his face and wedge fries. Ironically, Kevin really did care about his diet whereas Seth gave no fucks.

After lunch it was Gym Togetherness Time as Kevin called it. Seth had gotten Kevin on a bit of a bodybuilding kick, preaching the values of strength and flexibility.

"I'll Crossfit if you shut up about it," Kevin had said at the time.

Seth had not shut up about it.

Kevin didn't mind Gym Togetherness Time at all, though, at least he didn't feel self conscious here. After a few hours of Togetherness, Kevin usually couldn't stand the sight of Seth or one more weight, so Seth made up for it with healthy cheat snacks and a more modest dinner. Tonight was sushi; Kevin asked if he should wear his infinity loop scarf for the occasion.

"Oh my god," Seth muttered. "Why do I do anything for you."

After dinner was cuddles with shitty movies and TinyDog snoring. Seth rested his head in the hollow of Kevin's shoulder, his legs tucked up awkwardly on the couch, fiddling through his phone.

"Hey. Hey hey hey hey!" He punctuated each yell with a punch in the arm.

"What what what!"

"You been on my Instagram? I have a pic missing."

Kevin paused. Whoops, he'd actually forgotten.

"Uh, which?"

"The one with me and you. Did it get eaten? Those Instagram dicks!"

Kevin looked down and saw Seth cycling between anger and sadness. It messed up his damn heart a little to see the other man panic.

"You still have it on your phone right?" 

"But I want it on here," Seth whined. "That's the whole point of boyfriend pics on Instagram. To show people we're way cuter than them, way more successful, and just better than they'll ever be in their lives."

Kevin gulped. Goddamnit, he actually felt bad now. He wasn't going to confess, he was going to lie actually, but the look of hurt in Seth's eyes drew it out of him like wild horses.

"I deleted it."

"Wh-why?!"

Okay, he could lie now. He didn't have to say "because I hate looking at myself with you sometimes" or "those comments were creepy", he could say anything. Probably even something that would get him laid right now.

"Because. I'm an asshole, remember? Hashtag heel."

Not his shining moment.

But it didn't matter, because Seth was already reuploading the picture with even more obnoxious metalcore lyrics than before. Kevin sighed. 

They fell into silence with only TinyDog's snoring and the blather of a TV between them. Finally, Seth looked up, his eyes glistening a bit.

"Kevin," he started. "I...like-like you."

"I like-like you too."

"No, I mean I really love you. Like, all of you. Please don't ever feel like I don't because of a few shallow internet idiots."

Seth pressed himself into Kevin's arms and languidly ran his arm up and down Kevin's torso, squeezed so tightly that Kevin grunted and wheezed. He nuzzled Kevin's sweatshirt like the happiest pet in the world and reached up to press a kiss against his neck.

Of course he knew, Seth knew everything. He read the same comments and came to the same conclusions Kevin did, probably even internalized them too. It just didn't matter to him.  
~~~~

_"I really don't care what people think," Seth said miraculously around a mouthful of Kevin's dick. "Do you?"_

_Kevin grunted in response. He hoped that talking during blowjobs wouldn't become a habit._

_Seth pulled back with a loud pop and a spit trail. "I love you."_

_"You don't know that yet."_

_"Yes I do, I've stalked you forever."_

_"Wow."_

_"Now do you think I'm serious?"_

_Seth went back down. Kevin sighed and felt contentment. Seth was a weirdo but after three months, he was his weirdo and nothing could take that back. Not locker room talk, not fangirl dismay; hell, they'd doubled down._

_Seth sat back up like he was going to say something again but instead he just grinned up at went back to teasing an orgasm out of him._  
~~~~~~

They were a long way from cumming in the back of Kevin's car, but Seth still knew how to push his buttons all the way down.

Seth had him pinned down, hands pressed on both wrists just enough to make it kinky, trailing kisses from his neck and down his chest. Kevin loved the feel of Seth's stubble on him and gasped when full lips captured his nipples and sucked until they were a frustrated red. 

Seth dragged his stubby nails and calloused fingertips down the inside of Kevin's arms, leaving pinky-red marks; Kevin clenched his fists, determined not to move and be good. Seth smirked and placed a wet kiss on the side of his boyfriend's tummy. 

"Love you," he muttered against the soft flesh. "Love this." He punctuated himself with a nibble.

Kevin laughed. "You don't know that."

"I want every inch of you."

"Charmer."

As if to prove a point, Seth lazily lapped his tongue and kissed, starting at Kevin's knuckles and down the marks he'd left under his arms, his chest again, his ribcage, belly, down go his legs and Kevin fended him off before he got down to his feet. 

"Okay, okay!" But he wouldn't admit to loving how far Seth was willing to go.

Seth didn't say anything else, just grinned and sat up to lube up his cock.

Being a bottom for Seth was the last frontier they'd conquered together. Seth had failed to mention be was an ultra-top and Kevin didn't think he had a preference until he, well, had to think about it. He'd protested he wouldn't be comfortable, but Seth had found a way to angle him properly and hit every spot that had Kevin squealing like a damn bitch.

And when Seth hooked his waist and thighs and nudged against Kevin's ass, he sighed and felt true contentment. Everything melted away at the moment he thrust in and Kevin wished things stayed that way if his brain would stop being stupid.

After they came--Kevin first, naturally-- they laid together sticky and hot, Seth's arm crossed over Kevin protectively.

"It took me...a long time to believe you," Kevin muttered, using Seth and the pillow as his therapist. "Part of me always thought you'd be like 'just kidding!'"

"Then I'm really dedicated to fucking with you," Seth mumbled into Kevin's back. "Stop being stupid and insecure."

"I know, I know." Kevin abruptly rolled over and picked up Seth's phone from the nightstand. "In fact, let's take another one for posterity this time."

"We're naked," Seth said bluntly. "Buck ass naked and obviously fucked."

"You said you wanted to show people how much cuter and better off we are than them."

Seth held up his phone a while like he was thinking about it. He grinned.

"Here's to us," he said and snapped.


	12. Hunter's Girl (Triple H/Stephanie McMahon/A kitten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't prompted, I'm just having a shit week and I wanted another schmoop kitten story with Trips

It was so hot in the little store that puddles trailed Hunter and Stephanie where they inched up in line; Stephanie was grateful she at least picked a dress with forgiving fabric to sweat in.

She didn't whine, she didn't complain. She knew better by now.

Hunter was so determined to make Starla a big cute fluffy poofball he'd been...rather overfeeding her. Plus treats from the girls and visitors, and yet the kitten never got any bigger.

It was hard to understand. The silver kitten finally came out of her shell after a few weeks at home with them. She especially liked chasing ants and shadows. And her favorite spot was stuffed inside one of Hunter's suit coats.

Stephanie had to admit her feelings were hurt when the kitten turned her nose up at her, at least at first. Animals loved her! That cat had a problem. Yeah, her problem was she was Triple H's girl, and if Hunter doted and petted her and carried her around like a princess like that she'd be snooty too. Stephanie smirked to herself; hell, she was.

So she and Starla came to an understanding one night over fish and cheese treats while watching softball, and Hunter couldn't be any happier. Except his poofball wasn't becoming a poofball.

A vet exam later and they found out she might still have worms that were impeding her growth. She gave them a baggie of syringes to be taken over five days. They'd wasted one syringe trying to trick her with food or treats. Hunter picked her up and tried but Starla looked at him like he was nuts and scarred up his hands. Only when Stephanie coaxed her from under the bed did she accept the milky substance down her throat.

"Gross, huh?" she'd said in a baby voice. Starla's face said "eww".

She lost her appetite then shunned her food after the treatments. Try a different food, the doctor said, and give it some time. Try this brand. Very good, shell get big in no time

And because Hunter was a literalist they were standing in this tiny ass podunk store because it was the only one that sold The Brand, and by hell Hunter's girls would have nothing less than the best. He'd buy stock in the company next if she liked it. She better get ready for the promos on RAW.

She smiled; that's why she loved him.


	13. Debaser, debaser (Kevin Nash/Shawn Michaels)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept thinking to myself, "It's technically Diesel, right?" I tried it a few times and realized I still can't take Diesel seriously. Warning for some unlubed action (don't do it at home kids)

Heh. Shawn wondered if he could get a replica of this thing in his own house, in front of his specially reserved panty-droppin' fire place.

Ridiculously, he felt himself drifting off in his gaudy heart-shaped bed. Totally unprotected. But surely Kev was haunting around somewhere, probably finishing up his sloppy seconds. Heh-hah.

Something bumped his bed and his eyes shot open.

"Show's over, man," he muttered sleepily, thumping the big man in the gut. Even though he was the one falling asleep somewhere backstage.

He heard Kevin grunt over him and sighed. "Can I have a moment alone? A-lone?" he drawled.

Kevin observed his boss still covered in rhinestones. "This is real fuckin' stupid, ya know?"

A serpentine grin spread across Shawn's face, nice and slow. "You sure don't seem to think so every night."

Kevin's face twitched a little. "I bet a lot of people don't."

"You bet your ass. The fans are eating it up."

"I don't mean the fans."

Shawn sat up as one does when perplexed, and rolled his eyes. It had already dawned on him that his bodyguard was trying to be funny, even though to have a sense of humor one had to be a little quicker with the thinkins. He didn't want Kev to strain himself. He was already flexing in a peculiar manner, the glow of the lights against his tanned flesh creating a hypnotic wave. And Shawn did enjoy watching the man show off but...aw hell, he'd slipped his train of thought that quick.

"Then WHOM do ya mean?"

Kevin snorted. "Whoever else you've been fucking in that bed."

Shawn threw his head back and laughed. That really was pretty funny. And true, none of his fuckbuddies had any problem biting his ass while he gripped a lip-shaped pillow.

"And who have I been fucking in here, dear Kev?" He laid back and kicked his legs in the air, split them in a wide V and cupped his crotch. "Sounds like someone's mad it ain't them!"

Kevin was quiet for a minute, long enough for Shawn to think maybe he wasn't joking.

"Could be if I wanted to," the other man said simply. Okay, he was back to joking again.

"Oh, so you think you could get it?" Now Shawn was rolling on the bed, showing just a hint of ass and leg and laughing. "Then what's stoppin' ya, big man?"

It suddenly dawned on Shawn how dumb it was to say that while alone with the bodyguard he'd specifically hired to be intimidating and strong, not just how dumb it sounded but, well, why had he put himself in such a compromising position anyway? 

"You rolling around in there like a slut?" Kevin said smirking. "Nothing much."

Slut?! Shawn growled. He was going to have his paycheck for a year and his ass if...well, what do we have here? Those tight leather jeans had a bit of tent growing in them; Shawn wondered if Kevin even noticed. He had to, it was so hard Shawn was pretty sure he could see the veins outlined in black. He averted his eyes before he was caught staring.

He kept on his Pissed Boss face but stuck out his tongue. "Why Kevin, I do believe you're jealous."

The previously stoic statue suddenly lunged at him and grabbed him by the hair as if to drag him out face forward; Shawn tried to scream but it came out as a strangled moan.

"What would I be jealous of, you disease-ridden slut?"

Shawn winked and blew a kiss at his captor, arched into him and pressed his face tantalizingly close to that leather-encased dick. "That I'm not--" his tongue shot out for a lick-- "I'm not your disease-ridden slut."

Kevin flung Shawn back on the bed and before the other man had a chance to sit up, kneed him I'm the chest. Shawn felt like a vacuum had sucked the air right of of his lungs but he didn't even have time to breathe once Kevin started shredding his stage gear.

He was giddy; nothing feels quite as good as getting what one wants. Out of all the surely hundreds, probably thousands of lovers he'd fucked and sucked to kingdom come nothing felt better than getting fucked raw by pure power. Kevin flipped him over so his ass was up and exposed, then shoved his fingers in his mouth to get them wet. Just a little, not too much--wouldn't want him enjoying it. He slipped his fingers in and Shawn involuntarily clenched, mewling so obscenely Sherri was surely blushing somewhere.

After doing the bare minimum to prepare him, Kevin vanished and reappeared in front of Shawn, thick dick tip brushing against his lips. The big man's monstrous fist was in his hair again and impolitely dragging him forward.

"Ain't no lube, so you might wanna get it nice and wet."

Shawn maintained eye contact as he ran his tongue across the slit bubbling with precum and then down the shaft, before a nice controlled shove had the dick firmly in his mouth, sucking and moaning and swirling his tongue around it. It hit the back of his thought and he thought he could feel it in his fucking nose. Kevin pulled out just as it was getting good, much to Shawn's dismay and whining. 

"Shut the fuck up and turn around before it dries," he barked. "Your ass is so loose you probably don't even need it."

Shawn did as he was told and cocked one leg up higher to make himself comfortable. Kevin covered him completely and his weight sank the bed so much Shawn thought they might both go through. 

Shawn whined even louder than he thought possible with Kevin's dick in him, stretching him and thrusting in with Kevin's own lust in mind, using him like some cheap slut. Fucking right he was, and getting jackhammered in his custom bed was worth a little teasing and days of swelling to come.

Every time he tried to rise off the bed, giant hands weighed him down so he settled for raising his hips, adjusting his legs to alleviate that oncoming fucking cramp, anything to feel more of Kevin inside him.

"You like it dry, slut?" Kevin snarled over him. "You're tighter than I thought, maybe you fuck nothing but lil dicks."

"Fuck yes," Shawn said breathlessly. "So fucking big."

Kevin leaned down and growled in Shawn's ear, "And when you're limping around like some two cent whore tomorrow, who you gonna say did it?"

"K-Kevin!"

"Fuckin right."

Kevin pulled out again and Shawn thought he was going to scream. Instead, he found himself flipped over onto his upper back, legs and ass in the air and Kevin between them.

"I'm going to make you useless, cockslut," he said in a way that made Shawn want to get "cockslut" tattooed on him immediately. "It's going in dry this time, ya ready?"

"Wait!" Shawn croaked, "Th-there's lube...in my coat pocket."

Kevin laughed nastily and reached down for the tacky stage jacket. Indeed, there was a single use packet of lube and condoms.

"Wow, you voluntarily let me fuck you dry and unprotected. You really are a sick man whore."

"But now I'm your whore, right?" Shawn reached down and spread his ass cheeks. He could already feel the swelling around his anus but he couldn't be assed to care right now. "Fuck my ass, come on."

Kevin needed no invitation balanced Shawn upside down again, positioned himself carefully, and then rammed down to Shawn's squealing delight.

With the lube, Kevin slid in and out of Shawn's ass much more easily and hit his hot spots more often--not that Kevin gave a damn about Shawn's pleasure. He was even holding him like a ragdoll, with one hand on his throat and the other on his thigh. Kevin paused to force Shawn's mouth open and spit--"swallow it, slut!"-- and Shawn's eyes rolled back at the feeling of being so thoroughly used.

The unstoppable force finally seized up and came inside him then dropped him like a sack of bricks. Shawn jacked himself off as semen seeped from his ass and a bit ran down his leg. He took a minute to calculate his damage--trophies, really, he might want to ease up on taking falls on his back and sitting. No sitting.

And it looked like there was no vacancy at the Heartbreak Hotel tonight; Kevin sat down on the bed and eyed Shawn like a predator over a fresh kill.

"I'll wait until you're ready again," he said with a smirk. "Shouldn't be but five minutes."

Shawn, suddenly very generous and eager to please, smiled and spread his legs.

"Ready now."


	14. Velouria (Daniel Bryan/Kane)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed some more schmoop damnit and it came from Team Hell No

Daniel had let the vegan thing go a while ago. Kane could safely eat real bacon in the house now, but he was used to fake-on by now. What he never got used to was coffee and vegan desserts, so when Daniel made his announcement he silently thanked the dark lords.

What was more magical was how Daniel changed overnight.  A little more protein gave him more muscle and longer hair on his head and in his beard. Kane hoped he kept it. Damn he hoped it kept it.

Kane's own hair was a hindrance, an embarrassingly angelic shade that he desperately colored darker, and wavy. Kane only kept it so Daniel could periodically trim it.

He sat in front of the bathroom mirror, mask half on, while Daniel snipped around his edges and hummed.

"Pixies?" Kane muttered hopefully; keeping up with Daniel's musical tastes was exhausting but he loved how his eyes lit up when Kane recognized a band.

"Yeah! I'm sorry, I know I keep playing it every other hour."

Kane didn't mind. He didn't care for much music past the 1800s (except the time he got into nu-metal, no one let him live that down) but he did love Daniel's endearing, on-tune warble when he tried to sing like no one could hear him.

Daniel preferred Kane's hair a certain length: short enough not to get in the way but still long enough to run his hands through. When he got it the perfect length he tapped Kane's shoulder so he could get up.

"What album is it from?" Kane asked, not really caring. He just wanted Daniel to go on singing and smiling.

***

Daniel didn't budge on two things: music and coffee. Except when he did, because Kane didn't budge on two things: tea and rage.

They were wandering around a home goods store looking for Halloween decor. Thank goodness, because the tiny man next to the giant in the full-face mask might look a little weird. So far they'd found a life-like spider and a couple of ghosts. As they neared the checkout line, Daniel saw a box of tea on clearance. "Crème Earl Grey" it claimed. Daniel had no idea what that meant but he thought it would go delicious with a guava bar, and he knew Kane loved a good Earl Grey. So he discretely threw it in the basket.

The soft dad-rock playing in the store gave way to a familiar buzzsaw riff and Kane and Daniel looked up in surprise.

"Hey, it's your song."

"Yeah..." Daniel could feel his eyes glaze over. "Let's get a few more things."

At home, they started stringing up spiders and ghosts.

"Snack break," Daniel called. "Want a guava bar?"

He saw Kane grin. Those things were damn delicious and were probably going to kill them both.

Kane rummaged in the fridge while Daniel made them a couple cups of tea, no sugar. The tea didn't look very creamy but it smelled good, good enough to steal Kane away from the guava bars. 

"Is that...tea?"

"Yeah. I thought you might like it. It's...crème?" Daniel shrugged and sat down, secretly a ball of nerves.

Kane gulped his tea down with a noncommittal look. Daniel did the same but he knew it was because he hated the taste.

"Good?" he asked hesitantly.

"Excellent."

Daniel looked down at his half-finished cup; he'd deal.

***

After the sticky sweet taste had melted from their mouths and they'd strung up all the ghosts, Daniel found himself walking through the decorated hallways thinking about the first time he gave Kane a present.

He picked a good day because it wasn't _for_ anything in particular. It caught Kane off guard because it wasn't an obligation.

He was in a headshop buying incense and spotted a giant white butterfly encased in an acrylic block. He walked over to it and stared, ran his hands along the sides. The butterfly had some kind of brown pattern on the wings but he was taken in by the size most of all. How could something that big be so fragile looking? He bit his lips to suppress his grin.

"Oh, that's a White Witch Moth," the stoner clerk said as he rang Daniel up. "Very rare and cool."

"Wow, what a metal species name."

"Yeah. There's a Black Witch, too."

Daniel met Kane outside his locker room and held the acrylic block out.

"What's...that?" the giant said.

"A White Witch," Daniel said excitedly, running his fingers over it one more time. "It's so cool and I thought you'd like it."

Two things could have happened: Kane could have smashed the block over his head and roared off, or he could have had a mopey "why did you get me this I am a monster???" spiel. Daniel cut him off at the pass.

"I got it because I love you."

Daniel wasn't sure if Kane was trying to smile or trying not to smile, but he pecked him on the cheek anyway. Kane tossed the block in his bag and Daniel knows for a fact he keeps it near him to this day.

***

Conversely, Kane didn't have a problem summoning things to make Daniel happy and the man didn't really know when to stop. On a whim he would trigger Daniel's iPod with his demon powers (Daniel didn't ask anymore) just to get him to sing.

Continuing the loop, Daniel couldn't get enough of Kane's genuine, boyish smile and laugh so he sang as many times as Kane made him. 

That was how Undertaker found them when he came to drag his brother off for some family business. He watched for a moment--he was no stranger to spousal happiness, but to see his little brother so happy with something that didn't involve kidnapping and murder was...weird.

He could clear his throat and make himself known, but he just perched on the island in the kitchen with a smug smirk on his face until they were done. 

When the two were finished singing in each other's faces and breathing each other's air, Taker caught them before they started brazenly necking in front of him.

"Ah-hem. Kane."

Kane and Daniel straighted at the chill that went down both their spines. Unknown to most, Kane could blush and Undertaker knew he was right now.

"H-how long have you been there!"

"Second verse, I think. Did you forget we had to go?"

Kane nodded and turned to Daniel. "I'll be back."

Daniel sighed. That never got any easier. 

"I know."

Kane slid into the back of Taker's bike and they rode off. Taker caught Kane periodically tapping his back like he wasn't even aware of it. Air drumming that damn song. Undertaker let him have it though; his little piece of home while they drove through hell.

***

Daniel liked to have something special going for whenever Kane went away and came back. To this day he had no idea where "away" really was but he assumed it was terrible because Kane came back increasingly pale these days. But they didn't talk about it and Daniel did everything from adventurous sex acts to zoo trips to take his lover down off the edge.

This time he tried something a little simpler: cake. Cake was easy and his grandmother's recipe was delicious. A glazed cake with the rest of that godawful tea was just thoughtful enough, but to take it over the top Daniel had found little edible cake toppers shaped like owls. He was amazing.

So he waited. He didn't know how, but he had managed to create an internal clock timed for Kane's arrivals and departures. The ancients referred to this as "pining".

At dusk, a puff of black smoke in a humanoid shape signaled Kane's arrival. He sank into the chair Daniel had quickly kicked over and raised most of his mask up.

The two of them sat in silence a while, Daniel contemplating the cooling cake. Maybe now want the time? He wanted to be with Kane so often and so badly that he had trouble reading when the man didn't want him around.

"Missed you," Kane finally said, his voice gravelly with disuse.

"Missed you more," Daniel said with a soft smile. "Cake?"

Kane scooted over closer and regarded Daniel with the closest thing to puppy eyes Daniel had ever seen on him and his breath hitched.

"Actually, could you sing? Last time. Promise."

Daniel chuckled and wrapped his arms around Kane's shoulders so be could sing into his chest, letting the other man inhale the scent of his hair and take in the texture of his flannel. They'd get to cake later.


	15. All I Needed (Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins; Seth/Kevin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have the coveted Dean/Seth pairing...and it's watersports. A double bagger of things I never thought I'd write lmao.
> 
> I think of these as vignettes from different perspectives, I tacked on the third part not present on original fill because I'm in a shite mood. Original is here: https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=412183#cmt412183 so now contains watersports, voyeurism, and vague cheating.

It wouldn't surprise anyone to know how fucking embarrassingly attached to Dean he was. Couldn't let him out of his sight for a minute. Like a puppy, where he went Seth followed--on all fours sometimes, dragged by his hair, but always willing. 

That wasn't anything Dean ever asked for, but he hadn't put an end to it yet either. He supposed it was some kind of fucked up psychological need for his former team mate, but...he smirked. Dean had no such excuse; he was just fucked up and liked to debase him sometimes. 

They had a decent facade in public but Seth has nearly dropped it a couple of times to lick the sweat he flicks off his forehead from a good work out, or a little blood off his finger from a paper cut. But behind closed doors Dean lets him have at it--suckling his finger like a baby, or using his tongue in broad, flat strokes to "clean" him. The euphoric look on the other man's face when he was done was too much to think about.

Tonight, they were alone in this hotel room and before any of their fun started, Dean had to take a piss. Well, he'd had to go for a minute now, but Seth was weaving in and out between his legs like a hyperactive pet. He had a lot of energy to burn off tonight, it seemed, and then somewhat abruptly he jumped to his feet and pulled Dean in for a kiss.

"Please?" he said softly, his warm breath tickling Dean's chin.

"Hang on a minute. Gotta piss."

Dean noticed Seth giving him a blank look but didn't think anything about it until Seth slowly sank to his knees.

Seth wrapped his strong arms around one of Dean's legs and nuzzled his face alongside his torso.

"Here, inside me," he groaned into Dean's flesh.

Dean had a split second to think about his answer. "I...am not going to piss in you."

Seth's brown puppy eyes rolled up to look at him. "But why?" 

Dean shook his head and pulled his leg away, started walking to the bathroom. Some things were too far, even for him...sometimes. He looked back and predictably Seth was following him, half crouched like some feral child who hadn't got the hang of walking just yet. 

He grinned. The bathroom was so far away, and he felt so full like a feather-touch would make him spill any minute. 

"You really want it?" 

Seth wordlessly nodded. 

Dean grabbed his cock and positioned himself. His pet opened his mouth wide and rested his finger at the bottom of his chin in a way that would have been childish, like a child begging for something good at the end of the day. Dean looked up at the ceiling and thought better of it; he wanted to see, watch his stream of piss hit Seth's tongue and roll back to his throat, reserves gushing out at the corners and rolling down his neck and chin onto the floor like he was an exotic fountain. 

"Good?" 

Seth ducked his head and nodded. "Yeah." 

Dean had no idea how much of that Seth really drank and how much of it just ended up on his chest and on his lap--and the floor...he had no idea how the hell they were going to explain that, but at least Seth was happy for now.   
~~~

Every now and then, Seth was his own man again and could voice his own desires.

He was glad Dean didn't ask him about the whole piss thing, they'd gotten over the whole "Fill my every orifice with your cum" thing and even a little blood and blade play, but Dean didn't ask a lot of questions. He just smiled and went along with it, tricking Seth in to just thinking he's very adventurous and open.

(Dean had no idea how many cover pictures and videos Seth had taken of him in the bathroom; what on earth did the man think he was following him in there for?) 

He got as degraded as he wanted and still felt like he was the one in control, and was so glad he didn't have to fall back on the sweater analogy he used on several girlfriends. He didn't want to explain anymore; he just needed someone to do bad things to him. He needed _Dean_ to do bad things to him, because he deserved it.

Anyone else was too soft, too slow, or too loving; Dean looked at him like a sadist that didn't give a damn about his pleasure or needs.

(That's unhealthy, he knows that, and he needs _that_ too)

But Dean's motormouth got him off too, and if Dean had ever asked, he'd say, well, there was a cute teacher one time. She was new and feeling the heat from strict guidelines basically designed to keep student asses in seats and prevent cheating, so they had exactly two bathroom breaks per class. Yes, even well into middle school. Seth himself had a weak bladder and was well known to often go and teachers let him because he was a good kid, but not Mrs Dreamboat.

"No," she told him and her green eyes glowed just behind the rim of her brown glasses. She kept her hair in a bun, he remembered that. 

"But please," he whined nasally. "I really gotta go!"

"I'm sorry, I can't let you go."

Her hot gaze transfixed him to the seat and everyone else blurred out of his vision. 

"Please!"

He was squirming in his seat, gripping the edges of his seat. He imagined her coming over and slapping his hands and that sent a jolt of fire to his belly that made him draw his knees up. He wanted it to last forever.

"Um, ma'am, I think he's gonna wet himself... or start crying," one of his classmates said, no doubt at the fact that his eyes were glossy and slowly rolling up into his head.

Mrs. Dreamboat relented and Seth fled to the restroom, sobbing as he relieved himself and pressed his forehead up against the wall so he could stroke himself to full completion.

That's what he'd _say_ to Dean, or,

"I don't owe you a fucking thing right now."

Dean blinked in surprise and laughed.

"I just asked where you were going."

The school classroom melted into another backstage passage and Dean's hands pressed against the wall on either side of his head, trapping him.

Seth shook his head slowly; where had that come from? "I don't owe you an explanation."

"Hmmm?"

Seth started swatting at him. "I just have to go pee, come on." 

"Ohh, of course you do." Dean's voice dripped with condescension. "You sure you don't want to do it here, hm?" 

Seth sighed. "You wanna know about the thing last night?" 

Dean leaned back a little and relaxed, dropped one of his arms down to give the illusion of an exit.

"Nope," he said. "I thought it was fun."

"Then..."

"A lot of fun," Dean continued like he hadn't heard. His fingers crept under Seth's sweaty tank top, gliding from his abs to his chest and over to his nipples. "So much fun, let's do it again. Ready?" 

"Someone will see us," Seth ground out but he wasn't even convincing himself with the way his voice was trembling and his hands were itching.

"What do you care?"

"I think I care a little bit if someone sees the face of the company fucking piss himself in the hallway."

"Hmm. Maybe you're not gonna piss."

Dean tweaked his nipple and Seth gasped. His stomach burned and against all willpower his cock jumped, neither of these helping out his bladder situation.

Enjoying this reaction, Dean grinned and pulled again, tweaked, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

"What if you came instead, eh?" He slapped Seth's chest with the back of his hand. "Which call of nature you gonna answer first?"

Seth was rooted to the ground and inwardly praying. "Please..." 

"Which one?" Dean caught Seth's nipple between his knuckles and yanked. "Too bad you can't do both, huh?"

Seth's knees were buckling and he knew if he slid down the wall it would be over.

"Pleasepleaseplease--"

Dean slapped his chest again and dropped his other hand, and began to laugh. It was a loud, deep laugh that Seth didn't think he'd ever heard before, which was amazing considering how long they had known each other. That laugh came from...somewhere else, somewhere Seth didn't want to think about but desperately wanted to go.

But now he was fleeing down the hall, holding his stomach like his organs were going to burst out any minute, to the men's room and into a stall where he could be alone. He didn't bother with the toilet, he pulled his cock free from his pants and released all over himself, soaking his pants and bottom of his shirt. He slid down the stall door in a puddle of his own fluids, panting. Warm. Wet. All his. That was all he needed. 

~~~~

Seth got caught on purpose...he thinks. Yeah, probably. 

He knows how often Kevin checks his phone and he habitually deletes his spank bank material. But just this once he hadn't scrubbed hard enough.

So his mid-week yoga session with Funsized Kevin was broken by Daddy #2 yelling a loud, bass-full, "what the fuck!" from the living room.

Seth perked up along with his pup's ears and skittered back into the house.

"Hey, hey, hey, what is it?"

"Are you taking fucking upskirt pictures of people in bathrooms?"

Oh, fuck. Hearing it like that made Seth's stomach cramp up painfully. He said he'd never go out like this, but he wheezed bathetically, "It's not what it looks like!"

Kevin chucked the phone against the wall so hard it didn't shatter but stuck like it was suspended in tapioca. "I gotta hear this. _Envoye_."

Seth squirmed in place. Well, first Kevin Jr didn't need to hear this so he sent the tiny pup to his bedroom. Next, he came back and knelt at Kevin's feet. The big man raised an eyebrow.

"First, it's not just people...it's. It's...Dean."

"Ambrose. Fucking Ambrose. I knew you were still obsessed with him." Kevin laughed the delirious laugh of someone going through the stages of grief. "So this is what it's coming down to?"

"I l-love you Kevin," Seth blurted. "I'm bad. I need to be punished. You're too good for me."

"Vette!" 

Things were never going well when Kevin was hauling off swearing in Québécois. He literally forgot English for a few hours at a time. 

" _It has to be him because you're better than he is!_ "

Kevin stopped mid-rant and adjusted the koans bouncing around in his head.

"Better. So you're doing this with someone inferior."

Seth smirked. "He's scum, babe. I wouldn't ask you to do scum work."

Kevin sighed but Seth could almost hear the ego inflation on his breath.

"Rollins, the day I get you is the day I'll probably collapse in my fucking grave," he muttered. He came closer and tipped Seth's chin up. "I need...to think."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Kevin left the living room for parts unknown, and once Seth was sure the other man was gone he stood up and sighed in relief. He hated arguments. But he didn't think he was capable of doing anything without mindgames anymore. And that was why Kevin loved him; he expected no less.

He followed, vaguely, the trail of Kevin's mild cologne to the half bathroom they fought over. He was honestly walking past when he saw that the door was cracked. And like he was waiting, the sigh of jersey fabric slipping down flesh.

Seth pressed his back to the wall and immediately made space on his phone. Punishment had emptied him for the gift of forgiveness.

It felt good to be loved.


	16. A Phantom of Regular Size (Raven/Stevie Richards)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E-C-Dub!! I had prompted something similar but not the same, so I'm not filling my own prompt! And technically this was unprompted!! So deep somewhere inside me I wanted to do this anyway! That's frightening.
> 
> Contains abuse, noncon, blood, Raven being a poet.

He'd run right where I wanted him to...the old high school that was largely abandoned these days, used only by first year film students looking for dystopian aesthetics, and us.

Of course he ran here, out of some psychological need for safety sure, but he knows this place well. When I slammed the door behind me I could see it in his eyes; the hatred he had for himself for running right into our little love nest.

He can never really get away from me or any semblance of me; he cloaks himself in my very essence, wraps himself up in my habits, takes my name. The shadow I cast over him stretches like tendrils, like the horizontal stripes the window shutters are making down his face.

Like my hands holding onto his wrists and slamming him into the bent up lockers in the hallway. Sometimes it doesn't matter why we're here; I don't know why I get this way. It's something in his eyes...his body...I have the need too, and he's the only one...

I drag him by the hair into a classroom and he's skittering under the desks, kicking at me. Gets me a few times in the chest. It's a game, a fun game. I knock over desks to get to him and pull him out of a corner. I can't remember what I was even doing before I crushed my lips to his. 

All of our kisses are stolen artifacts. The first time it was backstage, everyone had gone to their respective locker rooms and I caught him outside. Lonely, lost little Stevie...that sense of melancholy that radiated off us both and kept us bound like magnets.

He didn't understand, at first, and neither did I...but I think it was clear when I gripped his chin and captured his mouth brutally. He tried to get away but there was nowhere to go. I tilted his head up for more. When I pulled away, the spit trail in my wake was thick and silver.

"If that wasn't your first kiss with a man, I'll fucking kill you."

He was terrified and nodded his head. I felt like he was lying, took him outside and nearly pushed both of us into traffic but he begged and begged...

Then I introduced him to the school and our personal playground, a wonderland of childhood glee perverted to our purposes. High schoolers used to fuck out here until his screams scared them off...it became haunted with us.

He calls out for "Scotty" when I hurt him too much, he thinks that's the part that will have mercy on him but I think inside he knows better. That part died long ago. There's only Raven that descends on him with a belt to hit every exposed part of him. I want to see red marks, I want to hear it, I want to watch his eyes roll back when I wrap it around his neck and choke him--

My hands go slack and I whisper to him, "You're the only one that makes me feel this way...the only one that can heal it...will you help me?"

It's not a truth...or a lie. When I let him go, his head hit the tile and I saw twin drops of blood. His nose. I reached around and wiped it away to taste. I've never known his blood.

I hate myself and it makes me want to crush everything beautiful, push it away like broken shards of glass...he's so fucking loyal that he just goes limp and let whatever happens, happen. Part of me is scared for one of us. I want him to leave but I don't; he wants to please me, eternally, that's the only thing that can describe the smile on his face when I do this and it _scares_ me, but I'm not sure for which one of us...


	17. Lit (Nikki Bella/Paige)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legit wrote this drunk and on painkillers (whoops) bless op for not judging me too harshly lol

"What's...on...the telly?"

Paige rolled over onto her back and arched up, displaying prominent hip bones. She splayed her hands across her stomach and brought them up slowly until they were just under her bare breasts.

Nikki turned the tv off because she didn't give a damn what was on. 

"Nothing."

Paige laughed and rolled over again onto her knees to give Nikki a great view of her ass.

"Welll...video games?"

Nikki shook her head; usually she loved it when Paige got coy and played stupid, but tonight her clit was so swollen with need it was in danger of pushing the strap on right out of the harness.

Nikki climbed onto the bed and ran two fingers against her girlfriend's equally wet, swollen pussy. Paige whined a little at the touch and wiggled.

"Mmm, whatcha gonna do...?" she drawled.

Nikki stayed quiet and kept rubbing, lightly, just barely fingering the hard nub. Paige kept trying to push her hips down for more but Nikki drew her hands away each time.

"You wanna play now?" Nikki said with a knowing grin. Paige turned her head and nodded.

It is a ritual with them, this cat and mouse game.

Nikki rubbed her breasts along Paige's back then forced her head down into the pillow. Paige turned her head to breathe but otherwise complied, gripping the sheets with ruddy knuckles.

Using two fingers again, Nikki spread Paige open wide to see her soft pink folds and wetness; she smiled and pressed her lips against Paige's cunt and licked in broad, languid strokes.

One would think Nikki would use a more feminine tool but she preferred her trusty, refreshingly hardcore and thick purple cock--of course it was--to torture her girl toy. And like it was a strained extension of herself, she sighed as she slid in inch by inch.

"Put your hips up higher!" Nikki slapped Paige's ass then grabbed a handful to hoist her up.

Paige whined and wailed with breathless, open mouthed screams under Nikki and spread her thighs wider; the other woman was somehow moving too fast but not fast enough as she chased her orgasm.

Nikki pulled out and teased her clit with the head of the cock, laughing as Paige nearly flipped herself in half. Paige gasped when Nikki rolled her clit between two fingers then massaged it in circles, first at the bottom then gradually to the top and sides.

Paige squealed when she came, slumped over and feeling heavy. Well, that was disappointing, but...

She gasped again when Nikki grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her. Nikki tilted her at an angle and thrust the cock in again, this time miraculously hitting her g-spot.

Paige saw white and couldn't even describe the grunts and screams coming out of her and her lover. She only knew at some point her eyes rolled back and the room exploded when she came, and she fell gently back into the mattress.

Nikki pulled out and laid down on her side, displaying the drenched purple dildo.

"Clean up," she sang.

Paige snickered and took the length into her mouth, savoring her own juices. Nikki greedily licked her clean but not quite enough for a third orgasm. Paige pouted.

"One more time? Please?"

Nikki smirked and fished for the remote she had discarded earlier. The frustrated look on her girlfriend's face was beautiful and hot and their next fuck session would be twice as intense. "Let's see what's on tv."


	18. C.R.E.A.M (Ted DiBiase/IRS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Retro Night at the Heist Compendium! My back and forth with salamandelbrot made me realize we need some more old school wrasslefic up in here and I remembered someone made [the greatest prompt of all time](https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=388375#cmt388375) a while ago.
> 
> I won't apologize for that wildly inappropriate wu-tang reference.

The reserved table outside was set for two, with dim, decorative lights hung low like suspended fireflies. The view of the sunset over the cityscape was dazzling. 

And Ted DiBiase sat there. Well-groomed and impeccably polished. Alone.

The waitress came back for what seemed like the fifth time with a pitcher of tea and water in either hand.

"Something to drink, Mr DiBiase?"

"No," he growled. The waitress jumped and skittered back into the restaurant.

Ted was pretty sure he said seven. Did Irwin even hear him over the sound of his incessant number crunching? Probably not. But this was their one date night out of the month, how could he forget?

9:05. Ted stood up and nearly took the table with him. On his way out, he shoved a wad of bills in someone's mouth. That was hush money, that worked. But he couldn't buy Irwin's time or bribe his attention away from work. That pissed him off to no end. 

He threw himself into the limo. In times like this, his staff was trained to just drive, damnit. So they went for a little spin.

That was another thing--work. Work was for average Joes, peons. Why work when your man was rich and only getting richer? But Irwin was one of those guys that did prob & stats calculations for fun. Made Ted want to spit.

"IRS's office. Now."

The limo made a hard left. Ted slumped back into the fine leather interior and sighed, let an arm dangle out the window.

Irwin had a rather homely brick office with his name on a faded plaque. Again, Ted tried to upgrade him but Irwin just brushed him off. He opened the door to the single level office space and--yep, there he was, face first in a pile of white documentation known as...work.

"Ahem."

Irwin's head shot up, glasses sliding over the bridge of his nose.

"What're you doing here? I told your assistant I was on my way."

Ted, in full pouting mode, said calmly, "That was an hour ago, dearest."

Irwin checked his watch in disbelief. "Damnit. Damnit, babe, I am so sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"Damn right you will. Get in the car."

It was hard to picture the big, powerful taxman as weak, but with Ted glowering at him like that he was downright meek. He locked his work up and grabbed his coat, and slid into the limo.

Ted slammed the door a moment later and there was silence. Utter silence. Irwin could feel the anger radiating off Ted in waves, and he had no idea what he could say or do to make things better right now.

But the way the other man kept shifting his eyes to glance at him told him he was supposed to do something, he just had to figure it out. He went for the old stretch n yawn trick first, draping his arm across the back of the seat. Ted didn't seem to hate his presence so he inched closer...closer...closer...

Ted leaned into his touch and closed the tiny gap of distance, resting his head on Irwin's shoulder.

"I wore my best suit for you," he muttered and Irwin hated how defeated he sounded.

"You look great. Shame you keep wasting it on me."

Ted sighed and buried his head deeper. "It's not wasted."

"Umm...why are we going to my house?"

"I didn't want to go home." One eye peered up. "This is how you'll make it up to me, right?"

Irwin knew what he had to do. A smile crossed his face and he pressed himself into his lover.

"Definitely."

An hour later and this...wasn't quite what Ted was expecting. But there was something about Irwin in the kitchen whisking together a thick cream sauce for pasta, the good wine in red cups, the modest furniture and reruns on the TV. It was...simple and somehow exactly what he wanted.

And when Irwin served him and draped his big, heavy arms around his shoulders he couldn't imagine wanting anything else.

"I'll be better next time, promise."

~~~

IRS was a man of his word, Ted knew that and commended him, but if he had a dime for every "next time" from that man he could buy his own planet.

But after having a taste of a completely unfettered moment--well, night--of Irwin's time, the thought of going back to See You in A Few Weeks made him sweat. 

"You're really going to sit there the whole time."

"Yes."

Ted had bought an expensive executive chair just for the occasion. He sat across from IRS, head propped on his hands like a giddy school girl and stared. 

He was prepared to be bored to death, but he wasn't prepared for Irwin to sneak glances at him over his glasses or swear softly when he made a mistake. Lots of mistakes, with eraser dust flying everywhere. Losing his place in his numbers. Adding the wrong things and mixing up papers.

 _Oh no,_ Ted thought with a smirk.

"Why dearest, I do believe I'm distracting you."

Irwin huffed and gave him a half-hearted glare. "You are."

"Shall I run and get you coffee?"

Irwin rolled his eyes and kept working. Ted made good on his word and went to the back to put some coffee on--he wasn't that spoiled, after all. As he waited, his smirk became uglier.

"Here."

Ted set the little Styrofoam cup down. Irwin looked up in surprise.

"Thank you."

"Don't mind me, you just do your little work thing."

"Could you not mock me, babe?"

Ted hummed like he was pondering. "I rather like it, actually, watching you. But are you always this unfocused?"

Irwin peered up again and there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Not usually."

"Hmm. Could it be you are thinking of something...something you desire? Something you want very, very badly?"

Irwin growled. "Don't push it, Ted. I said I would make it up to you."

Ted fingered a white sheet. "Sure you will. Tonight. But you're thinking about it right now. Something you want very badly but you can't have...and knowing it's all self-imposed."

Irwin's pen stopped moving and slipped from his hand.

"That's the worst. Having to break your own restraints. Just wipes out your willpower, doesn't it."

Ted could get into anyone's head, including IRS. It was just a gift. Watching the man's will slip away as he flexed with invisible stress balls in his hands...there was almost nothing better. Almost.

He abruptly stood and walked around the office. Irwin attempted to get back to work but now his occasional glances at Ted were very frequent and feverish. 

"Where are you going?" he asked as Ted neared the door. 

"I confess I am a bit bored. I think I'll take my leave and wait for you at home."

"O...okay." Irwin swallowed. "Well, I won't be long."

Ted let his hand rest on the door. 

"But I can take a break if you want."

"No, I'd hate to tear you away from your precious work."

"Come on, babe. It's not going anywhere."

Ted whipped around with a terrible smile plastered on his face. "Oh, it's evidently more important than me. You're saying it's nothing?"

Irwin fell back in his chair and threw his hands up. "What do you want out of me? I'm sorry I work a lot. I can't help it! But it's not more important than you, nothing is!"

Watching Irwin's façade of control melt away certainly was entertaining, but Ted hadn't expected that outburst. Then again, he didn't intend to sound that bitter, either.

He crossed the room until he stood between Irwin's legs and grabbed his chin.

"I can have this, that, and the other, but what I want is you. More of you and less of...this. Got it?"

Irwin nodded. Ted slowly got down to his knees and unbuttoned and unzipped his well-fitted slacks.

He took out the hardening length and gave it a firm squeeze at the base that turned into one long, slow stroke. Irwin groaned and visibly melted into his seat, let his legs go limp as Ted took his sweet time pumping his cock and teasing the tip with his lips.

Ted lost himself and forgot he was the one in control when Irwin began thrusting and bucking into his mouth. Today, last weekend...he didn't think he could go without this anymore. He couldn't go without being the center of this man's universe another minute.

He let his hands drop down to grip the edges of the seat as Irwin gripped the back of his head with broad, hot hands and forced his head up and down on his cock, head back and moaning gloriously. His semen hit the back of Ted's throat and slid down like the best thing in the world, and Ted was greedy for it until Irwin pulled his flaccid length out.

Irwin pulled him into his lap and kissed his sex swollen lips. "I think we have just enough time for you next."

Ted wanted to pull away, teach the other man a lesson, but his self control had been lost a long time ago and he wasn't here to punish himself, goddamnit. So he let Irwin knock allegedly valuable work off the table just to set him on top of it, position him and drop down to his knees.

His world went white with Irwin's tongue in his ass, swirling and thrusting and tasting him so obscenely that he couldn't stop the needy moans from escaping his lips. He held onto the table as Irwin ate him, and when he came up for air it was only to pump his lover's cock to orgasm all over his knuckles.

Ted sagged against Irwin in satisfaction and delirium and kissed him again, letting the tastes on their tongues mingle together.

"Don't think you're off the hook for tonight," he warned.

"Fuck tonight, we're going right now."

Irwin zipped his pants back up and started looking up and shutting down.

"I thought Wall Street never slept?" Ted quipped, chuckling to himself. IRS didn't find it so funny.

"Again, fuck that. Get in the car."

Ted flicked the lights off and Irwin pulled the door up behind him. The only better feeling that getting what one wants is getting it for _free_. And with little effort.


	19. Infinity Catlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a new kitten in the driveway!!! To celebrate, here is another story in the ongoing Hunter vs cats saga!

Hunter still liked to pretend he was just an anonymous citizen that could drive right into town unharrassed. That had not been true in decades, but there was also the fact that he went a little stir crazy in a house full of girls...and a cat. A very spoiled, overfed chubby cat.

"Mrrrur?" Starla asked as he grabbed his bike helmet. He fished a treat out of the little satchel by the door.

"Here, baby."

She pawed at it and nibbled. Her cold, wet nose against his warm hands made him squeal inwardly then resent himself.

"Daddy's going out for a bit."

"Mew!"

"You can't come."

Starla hit him with her tail and sashayed away. She was awfully sassy for someone who started off life with half a tongue and no whiskers. He strapped on his helmet and headed for the garage.

The open road was empty, and the autumn air crisp and deliciously cool. The sky looked bright and clean in that special November way, inviting Hunter to take in the scenery around him even as he sped.

That's how he saw the little stripped critter attempting to crawl onto the road.

Hunter skid to a halt, nearly fishtailing out in the middle of the road. A long, black trail followed behind him and made a half circle around the struggling kitten on the side of the road.

He slumped against the handle bars and killed the ignition.

"What in the blue hell are you doing out here, little guy?" he yelled.

"Meeew?" the kitten said in response. 

Hunter looked around. No sign of a mom but surely she was near by. He kicked his kickstand out and attended to the kitten; it was a brown tabby and very small, barely a few weeks old. But feisty. He absolutely did not want to be coddled and fought at Hunter with tiny claws. 

"Ow!" 

He let the kitten back down where he promptly began a war dance at his feet. He sighed.

"Well aren't you mean and vicious."

He set the kitten back in the grass...only for it to turn around again and war dance. Hunter let it mess with his hands for a while as he thought.

After a few minutes, he stuffed the kitten in his jacket and looked in earnest for a mom. He didn't see her, dead or alive, or any other kittens strangely enough. 

Hunter looked down at the fuzzball squirming in his coat. He couldn't leave the brave fella down there by himself...and Starla wouldn't put up with him. But maybe he knew someone who would take him.

~~~

Viktor hated questioning his lord and master Stardust, but he just had to ask.

"So a kitten is our mascot now, huh?"

Stardust hissed. "Who better to represent the cooosmic wastelaaand than the crafty, conniving feline?"

Viktor, for one, welcomed their feline overlords and the damn thing was pretty cute (and kinda crazy, he thought).

"But you do know Konnor is allergic, right?"

"Yeah. I bought him a shit ton of the substance known as 'medication' to prepare him for the days to come."


	20. Afa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was about to remove my Jimmy Uso tag since he's officially confined to Daytime Story, but then I was like wait why not just write an actual Jimmy Uso solo fic.
> 
> I love mythology and creation stories so I took a few respectful bits of Polynesian/Samoan mythology. Also contains hints of twincest because you needed that.

Jimmy had no idea what hit him when the surprisingly heavy little girl crashed on his gut.

"And Jimmy Uso is dooown," Jey said from his mock commentary table, aka the couch. "Can he kick ouuut?!"

"No, no!" Jayla screamed and hoisted Jimmy's leg up. He let his tongue roll out in an exaggerated dead pose as Jey rapidly counted to three.

"He's ouuut! O-W-T!"

"Damn--I mean dang," Jimmy swore and rolled over. Jayla promptly elbow dropped his back and knocked the rest of the wind out of him.

"You win already!"

"What do I get?"

"Whatever you want, just get off me!"

Jayla did no such thing, kicked her heels up thinking of her prize. 

"Okay! Tell me the story of the princes again!"

Jimmy and Jey sighed.

"You done heard that like fiftylevin times," Jey whined.

"Again! Or I'll beat you up too!"

"Beat him up too," Jimmy encouraged. "He deserves it."

"Okay, okay. Who starts first?"

"Once upon a time..." Jayla began impatiently.

Jimmy took up next. "There were two Samoan princes from the same family."

"Fatu!" Jayla interjected. Jey shushed her.

"You gotta let us tell it! But yeah, Fatu. One controlled water and the other wind. The two brothers got along as children, but something bad happened between the two of them and they started fighting."

Jey took over again. "Their fighting was so powerful that it made people run and hide and nearly tore the island apart. It made terrible hurricanes and hurt many people for a year."

"So their father made them stop but he couldn't make them get along. So, instead he had a contest for them. Whichever one of them benefited the people most, had to shake the other's hand and apologize."

The atmosphere shifted a bit in the room, as it usually did whenever they got to this part of the story. Jayla moved around uncomfortably; this was usually when she started feeling like maybe she shouldn't request this story so often. There was a stretch of silence before Jimmy decided to continue next.

"So the rain brother decided to water crops. That made the people very happy, but he made it rain too much."

"Then the wind brother swept all the extra water away, but his winds were so strong he knocked over houses."

"So both brothers felt bad, and they helped the people rebuild. But they couldn't do that without competing either, and kind of messed it up."

Jayla snickered at the brothers' incompetence. Jey rolled his eyes and continued.

"Finally, after like a year, the people had had enough of this isht and complained to their dad. Their dad came back and told the princes that the whole purpose of the contest was to show the brothers they're no good apart and have to work together, so he tried to make them make up."

Jimmy dropped his head and snickered into his arm. "But both brothers thought that was dumb as hell, so they went to separate parts of the earth for like a thousand years."

"A thousand and two," Jey corrected.

"Whatever. So there was one half of the earth where it was really windy but no rain, and the other half was rainy but no wind. The people started bit--I mean complaining again, so finally the rain brother decided to be the bigger man and go find his brother to apologize."

"The bigger man huh," Jey snorted.

"Cause he's older and he can admit when he's wrong! So he takes his canoe and goes out, but when he gets near the brother's territory he got caught in a wind storm and almost drowned."

"The wind brother wasn't...really going to go save him at first, really, but he thought about all the good times he and his brother had--"

"And remembered he's family," Jimmy emphasized.

"That too. So he went to save his brother. To pull him out of the canoe, he had to grab his hand and that sealed the pact between them from the contest. So, rain brother apologized and they went back home where balance was restored. The end."

"Yay!" Jayla cheered. She finally rolled off Jimmy and got up to give her uncle a hug.

"Go torture your brother for a minute, please."

Jayla ran off, leaving Jimmy and Jey alone. Jey crossed the room and helped his brother off the floor.

"I swear, that story gets shorter and shorter every time we tell it."

"Well," Jey mused, "I honestly can't remember what we even got mad about in the first place. And I don't feel comfortable telling my niece I had hatesex with her dad and that caused storms."

Jimmy laughed then exhaled loudly through his nose. "Well, whatever the hell it was, I probably did it anyway."

"Water under the bridge--literally. Hey, can I get something to drink?"

Jimmy gestured for Jey to open his mouth, then raised two fingers. Jey's mouth was instantly filled with water so fresh it almost hurt to swallow. He nodded gratefully. 

"Thanks. Oh, I keep forgetting to mention your dumb ass can't swim, water prince. That's the real reason I had to get you."

"Ugh, shut the fuck up." Jimmy's eyes glowed white and his brother's laugh sounded curiously like thunder. The two of them mock wrestled as black clouds rolled in and the wind picked up, signaling the beginning of another summer storm.


	21. A Very Competent Man (Ted/IRS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a shit day and Ted fighting Irwin's work to the death is just what the doctor ordered

Ted had been in IRS's office before many, many times but never alone. He had the bouncy spirit of a child that got to keep himself while mom and dad were out for the evening.

Ever since their last stint in the office together, Irwin had decided he could trust his boyfriend alone long enough to make a quick run downtown. So he said. What was he getting? Who cared. It was finally time for Ted to run his greedy little hands all over everything, put his fingerprints in every binder.

He got up and scanned the shelves; where to start? Maybe here--

Oh. When he reached over, he had wobbled a tall stack of white sheets. "Work", as Irwin called it in a low whisper like he was transporting yayo.

Ted carefully rearranged the stack then looked it over with jealous eye. No matter what Irwin said, Ted was going to lose the man to this stuff in T-2 hours. He snarled at it like it could talk back, fingered a few pages. Tax documentation? This was nothing. Why did Irwin find it so exciting? Didn't matter.

"Well, if you are to be my rival," he said with a heavy sigh, "I must defeat you."

He pulled up Irwin's chair and sat down, then grabbed a pen and started pulling papers down. He refused to be beaten by "work".

~~~

Irwin swung the door open and nearly dropped his package.

"Wh-what are you doing?!"

"Working," Ted muttered. He was more than halfway through the stack on the desk, creating a new stack on the floor.

Anxiety burned Irwin's chest and fingertips as he stumbled forward. He set his box down first and then tried to figure out if he was going to strangle Ted first or fix his mess. He decided to hold off on murder and started picking at the done pile.

"Oh...oh, baby," he said softly. "This is...right?"

"I know," Ted said. "Hand me that, will you?"

Irwin absently handed him another bundle. "I mean, this is...really correct?" He looked down at Ted's swift hands and saw the red indents from where the pen was biting into his flesh. It was then he noticed that the calculator had not been used, was still cold in fact.

"In your head!" he exclaimed.

"Hm?" Ted looked up; IRS was being awfully distracting. "I can add in my head, can't you?"

"I mean--yeah, but--long numbers," Irwin admitted sheepishly.

"You're just not used to that kinda money!" Ted sat back and guffawed. "Besides, you were using quite an ineffective system. Now, I know you said no frills but I'm gonna update it anyway so don't fuss."

Irwin nodded and sat on the edge of the desk. "Tell me more about efficiency."

"Well, you--is this getting you off or something?"

"Kind of."

"Good to have me around, innit?"

Irwin refused to admit the idea of Ted reorganizing his office got him the tiniest bit hot under the collar so he settled for biting his lip and looking away. It didn't matter because Ted was already chuckling and running his fingers down his back; he shuddered.

"We'll talk all about it...when you take me home."

"Done?" Irwin turned around to see his desk spotless.

Ted pouted. "Did you think I was stupid, Irwin?"

"No!"

"Damn right, I wouldn't be richer than the Devil or with you if I was."

Irwin had to smirk a bit at that. He draped his arms around Ted's shoulders and followed him out the door.

Ted snuck a glance at the boxes and shelves before they slammed the door on them. Maybe work wasn't so bad.


	22. A Means To An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Heist brings you a mini sequel to He's Lost Control aka ch 1 & 2 because severely traumatized Dean and possessed Roman are great combinations.
> 
> Warnings for blood, spooky shit, and character death.

Seeing Roman cry was always the worst for Dean, knowing it wasn't really him made it a tenfold nightmare. 

No one believes him, the so-called Lunatic Fringe, when he says Roman is possessed. Sure, it even sounds crazy, but it's true. There's a very large, firm chunk of evil lodged somewhere in the man and it's been there ever since he encountered Bray Wyatt.

No one else saw the tendrils of black that rolled off him when he was alone...with Dean. For whatever reason, Roman felt comfortable showing Dean flashes of his true self now. The empty smile and rolled back eyes and the unnatural shadows he cast.

The thing is, Roman hasn't really done anything. He's his usual jovial, outgoing self. Maybe even too personable sometimes, but that's just who he is. He shakes hands, smiles, kisses babies. It's the Roman he knew.

_But it's not fucking him_

The only person he can confide in is, irony of all ironies, Randy Orton. That's how Dean knew he was losing his fucking mind by even talking to that man. But to his surprise, Randy shivered and nodded at his concerns. 

"Yeah, something's a little...off with him lately, huh?" 

Dean almost cried with relief. "Yeah. Yeah, something's a lot off."

"I'll see what I can find out...just be careful, okay?"

That was a few weeks ago, and no one had heard from Randy since. Dean assumes he found something and paid the price.

Now, with no one left, Dean was at Roman's...no, that thing's mercy. He doesn't sleep well anymore, not that he did to begin with. 

Tonight he's reading occult literature in hopes of arming himself. It probably won't help but it's a comfort. The one thing he knew by now is that no one really knows what Bray Wyatt truly is. Shaman or conman? It was hard to say. He considered himself a vessel but not for the Devil. Then for what? And what did he need with Roman? 

His vision was blurry and getting worse, part from unshed tears and part from sleep. Just as he was nodding off he thought he heard footsteps. The intrusive noise made him jerk up and scramble. He didn't see anything creeping around, but there were fresh scuff marks on the floor of his hotel room.

The bathroom door was open. Why was evil fucking with him?

The knock on the door nearly killed him. He stood up on shaky legs and peered through the peephole.

His legs liquefied when he saw Roman waving at his eye in the hallway.

"H-hey," he said, pressed against the door.

"Hey bro, can I come in?"

_Don't call me bro, motherfucker_ Dean hissed in his mind. "I'm about to go to sleep. What's up?"

"Ah, nothin. Just wanted to talk. I ain't seen you all day, man."

Dean could hear the smile in his voice. Against all better judgment in his nature, he cracked the door open.

"Yoohoo!" Roman playfully poked a finger through the small slit. Dean quickly slammed it as a reflex; blood gushed and dripped down the off-white walks but Roman didn't make a sound.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!"

"No worries. I kinda liked it. Open the door, Dean."

With a pissed tremor in his voice, Dean held fast. "No, Roman."

"Open the door, Dean."

Roman sounded as if he might have an axe with him. He looked through the keyhole just to check and only saw Roman by himself in the hallway, no longer smiling.

His other four fingers snaked in through the slit, pushing through like they were clay. Dean pressed harder against the door and there was more blood, but the unnaturally long fingers kept coming.

"Rome, I'm really tired." Dean was openly weeping while trying to keep his voice reasonable and steady. "I'm just going to sleep, okay?"

"You haven't slept in a week. You're in there reading that stupid book. It's not going to help you."

"I-I know, but I'm tired right now, see?"

Dean wanted nothing more than to slide to the floor and give up, let that thing in, but the fingers that were creeping around to the door knob suddenly slid back, leaving a trail of blood and flesh.

"Poor baby. I'm sorry."

"It's o-okay," Dean said. "I'm going to sleep now, alright?"

"Alright. Get some rest."

He watched as Roman walked away, then finally he allowed himself to fall into a heap. His shirt was wet from tears. He couldn't take this anymore, but it wasn't anything he could fight because it's _Roman_ \--

Something long and black snaked out from under his bed and grabbed the book. In a few clean motions it was shredded, raining paper onto the floor. Before Dean could pull himself up, something he couldn't see grabbed him and dragged him flailing towards the bed. The force slammed him down on top of the covers and held him there all night, while Bray's distant baritone hum sang disjointed lullabies in his ears.

~~~

The thing's other favorite game was mimicking affection. Dean had established several times that it couldn't feel or just didn't acknowledge physical pain but it liked to fake emotion quite well.

Sometimes, it would repeat little in-phrases that only Roman and Dean knew. One night, Roman wrapped his arms around Dean from behind and nuzzled the back of his neck.

"Run away with me?" he muttered. That stemmed from a longstanding conversation they had about the indies and joining the circus. It was so easy to just give in and drown in the warmth but he wrenched himself away.

Roman was smiling ruefully, then he looked down. "I take that as a no?"

"I...I can't..."

"Can't or won't?"

Dean shook his head. Roman nodded as if he understood and retreated into the dark, sliding backwards like someone had pulled his string.

Not to mention he was still pumping texts periodically to his emergency phone. Which Dean did not read under any circumstances. Until today when the generic jingle finally got too much.

It was a multi-part text. _I know you're mad at me right now, but you're still my boy right?_

Dean dropped his phone and heard it crack. He didn't even realize he was screaming until Dolph Ziggler clamped a mouth over his mouth and dragged him to his room.

"Snap out of it!" Dolph shook and slapped him.

"He--won't stoo--I can't do this!"

"Who, Dean?"

"That fucking thing calling itself Roman Reigns!"

A look of recognition passed over Dolph's face. "I...I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do!" Dean shoved Dolph against the wall. "Randy knew. He found something, didn't he?"

Dolph grimaced and took hold of one of Dean's elbows. "No. It found him, and if you don't keep playing dumb it's coming for you, next." Dolph shook his head, jarring a few tears loose. "Dean, I like you. I do. But I told Randy to keep out of that shit. I almost wish it would just kill you already."

Dean let Dolph down and slowly backed off. "Yeah. Me too."

The door banged open behind him. Dolph screamed but he was silenced by a long, black tendril that wrapped around his neck and squeezed, squeezed the air out of him and finally a wet crack. 

The door shut but the presence was still there.

"Why...?"

"Funny how he knew you were in the hallway, huh?" Roman nodded his head towards the open bathroom door. "Look inside."

Dean stood in the bathroom doorway and turned on the light. On the sink, there was a butcher knife and a pair of gloves.

Roman leaned in until his nose pressed against Dean's neck. "What do you think he was gonna do? I can't let anyone hurt my boy."

Dean let his arms fall to his sides, limp. He nodded and let the creature hold him.

~~~

And when Dean came across Roman backstage after Survivor Series, sobbing and hiccupping and arms wrapped around his knees like a child, he knew the vulnerability was a wounded gambit.

"Baby, shh," he said, stroking his hair. "You were so close."

"Why does this keep happening? I'm not going to quit. I can't. But it's Triple H and Sheamus and fucking everything...and you..."

Roman shoved him back. "This is your fault."

Not the match. Everything. Dean swallowed.

"I know. Let me fix it, please."

Roman's face went blank again. "How?"

"Come with me."

Dean pushed past the little whispers in his head and took Roman's hand to lead him outside. They walked, surprisingly unbothered but Dean suspected that wasn't a coincidence. They went out of the parking lot and away from the arena, further and further into the cold.

Roman resisted occasionally and Dean felt little pinpricks in his brain. Trying to get in. But he stayed focused. 

They couldn't go much further without running into a mass of people, so they stopped under a streetlight. Roman looked at Dean with curious eyes and tendrils rising from his back.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Roman... I. I..."

Roman leaned in with a smile. "Do you love me, Dean?"

"Yes."

Without another word, he plunged the knife in Roman's back, retracted it, then again. And again. Over and over until the man was at his feet with a small trickle of blood dribbling from his lips.

Dean wanted to scream but no sound came from him, only a deep chuckle from the moving night behind him.

"I always said you'd stab him in the back, I didn't mean literally."

In that moment, Dean hated Bray more than anything in the world. 

"No, no, I think you hate yourself a bit more. Although, I am disappointed you destroyed such a beautiful vessel." His voice turned into a growl. "Very disappointed."

"You already destroyed his soul."

"He came to me willingly after he got tired of this world breaking him over and over. You selfishly kept trying to pull him back. But like a fool he loved you far more than me."

Dean dropped to his knees in agony, screaming gibberish.

"He loved you and this is what you do to him. But I can make the pain go away, now..." 

Dean felt hands grip his shoulders firmly to steady him and trap him. 

"Open up your mind and let me in; receive me..."


	23. Transmission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another minisequel to He's Lost Control, thanks for everyone's feedback to the last one! Honestly I had no idea how that fic went down because it was so weird so I'm glad to hear y'all likes it after all ha-ha. I realized it had a few loose ends I wanted to tie up so a true sequel to the main story is coming up eventually that will hopefully answer questions like "why Bray?!"
> 
> For now here is The Doom That Came to Dolph Ziggler! Warning for creepy shit and character death.

Dolph had told him to stay out of that shit.

The first time Roman had touched him, he knew it was all wrong. Like a body-snatcher pod, a perfect copy but dead inside. He wasn't totally surprised when he learned the man had been blessed by Wyatt's hands.

Dolph let it go. He tried not to be alone with the thing if he could help it.

Was this Wyatt's plan? Roman was acting as normal as ever from what he could tell. But the keyword was acting. Dean had it the worst, whatever he was seeing behind the scenes had driven him to bouts of gibbering.

But Dolph let it go. It wasn't his business; his only responsibility was getting that little upstart prick Breeze off his ass.

Randy was a bit different. The Viper was bullheaded. The two of them had bonded over their shared mutual brush with creepiness, but Randy kept taking it baby steps further. Dolph didn't understand it.

"Ignoring it won't make it go away," Randy said. He was coming out of the shower one night; Dolph was crashing in his room because there was safety in numbers.

"Yeah, but ignoring it will keep us alive. I don't think...I don't think it likes that we know."

"How can you tell?"

Dolph took a deep breath and exhaled. "Yesterday...I was in catering. I felt something in there...just something. I look down and there's black gunk everywhere. And laughing..."

"Fuck. That's creepy."

"It's more than fuckin creepy," Dolph spat. "You, you have a family to protect, Randy. Just...don't!"

Randy shook his head slowly. "I'm doing it for them. And the two of us. Don't you think it's strange we're getting targeted? Is it just a coincidence?"

"I don't care, Randy, I just want it to go away." Dolph covered his face with his hands. He couldn't tell Randy that wasn't the first and only thing that had touched him. Couldn't talk about the scraping at his windows and disembodied hands skirting the dark.

He just wanted them all to stop. Stop talking about it. Play dumb. Stop.

Randy gently pulled his hands away from his red-eyed, wet face.

"We're going to make it stop. Okay? We have to know what we're up against to stop it."

"Please, Randy," Dolph begged. _Let me protect youyoucantsavehim_

He hated Randy for smiling and making him believe. He hated Randy for being so brave and so cautious, far warmer than he let on. And he paid for it.

No one had heard from him in days. His family was worried. He caught Triple H and Vince pacing around and arguing.

The police would never find anything, Dolph knew because images of the act flickered behind his closed eyes periodically. 

He had been unclean for so long.

The show, no matter how bleary, had to go on, and so everyone marched solemnly towards the inevitable. 

Dolph was making idle chitchat with Zack backstage, pulling on fingerless gloves and his hoodie. He punctuated his sentences with short bursts of laughter and everything felt normal. 

_I can make it stop_

Dolph trailed off mid-sentence. Zack raised his eyebrows.

"What happened?"

Dolph felt pinpricks inside his head like a cold chill, like memories being plucked like petals from a daisy. "Ah...aw, jeez, I don't remember."

"Yer getting senile!" Zack crowed and clapped his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah."

Dolph chuckled and went on his way. He was on tonight.

_you couldn't save him_

He whipped around and skipped a step. He opened his mouth but quickly clamped it shut with his own hand. Play dumb.

_Randy was wrong and you know it_

He couldn't answer. He was on his way to the ring and his music was blaring in his ears. It soothed him and so would the series of cracks to his skull that night.  
~~~

There was one thing he did look up, though: intrusive thoughts, a condition of depression and OCD and other such disorders. The thing was, those thoughts often came from within the sufferer.

They were getting more frequent now to the point where he could barely finish a coherent sentence anymore, and in worst case scenarios he'd froth at the mouth. The medics checked him out; nothing, physically. 

Triple H hovered over him at his last exam. 

"Dolph, I don't mind telling you that I'm terrified." The powerful man wrung his hands and kept his eyes downcast. "I'm losing some of my best and brightest and I have no idea what to do...because I don't know what I'm losing them to..."

Dolph's daily image of Randy's gruesome demise flashed when he blinked.

"I don't...I don't know if I should shut the company down, or..."

_ya ever think aboutkillingdean?_

Dolph clutched his head and groaned; he laid down on his side and rocked, joined by Hunter gently shaking him.

"Dolph, stay with me..."

Dolph laughed bitterly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"What's going on?"

"Just stop talking about it."

When they finally let him leave, he rounded the corner and ran into the thing calling itself Roman Reigns.

"Dolph, I heard you were sick. You okay, man?"

"I'm fine." The ice chills in his brain again. "Just a little virus."

Roman leaned in and pressed his arm against Dolph's forehead.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. No fever."

Roman nodded and let Dolph push past him. Before he got too far, Roman gripped his wrist. 

"Sorry about Randy." 

Dolph nodded. "Me...me too."

He staggered back to his room and opened the door. The room was mercifully dark despite the afternoon sun, but there was a strange glint on the wall that jutted out between the bathroom and the rest of the room.

Dolph moved towards the glow and shrank back a bit. He rubbed his fingertips along the dark patch and quickly realized it was hair. Eyes flashed open and the shape stretched into a smile. The thick lips laughed and pulled further into a head attached to a neck, the rest blending into the wall.

Dolph curled himself into fetal position at the foot of the bed.

"Look at me, lamb."

Arms stretched out and pushed against the wall. The rest of the body slowly worked its way out.

"Lamb?"

"Why me? Why Randy?"

"Orton simply...got too close." Bray chuckled. "You I need. I need you to get rid of Ambrose."

Fleshy tendrils shot out and wrapped around Dolph's waist and neck to restrain him and pull him closer.

"He was supposed to love me before all else...that fool betrayed him over, and over! But he worshipped at his feet, called him friend. Rejected me. Me, and I gave him power. Me after I set him free. After everything I've done."

Dolph gagged as his binding grew tighter. "Y...you can't make anyone love you...you can gi...give them anything! And they won't...believe me, I nuh...know..."

Bray's face was a blank mask for a moment, then a serene smile bloomed onto his lips. "You're right. But I can certainly murder the hypotenuse."

The appendages let go of his waist but held fast to his neck. Bray slid in towards him as if on a dolly, tennis shoes scraping against the carpet. He laid his hands on Dolph's face and sank his thumbs into his eyes, spilling blood and mucous down his cheeks. His flesh melded with Dolph's and images shot through the other man's brain.

"I'll make it stop," Bray said camly over Dolph's screaming. "I'll make it stop. Just carry out my will. Don't you want it to stop? It's all his fault."

Even in his state, Dolph knew the demon was lying. He channeled some of Randy's courage and resisted.

"Why do you care? He's your slave!"

Bray relented. "Is he?"

Dolph screamed, wrapped his hands around Bray's wrists with all his strength and gave one great shove. Bray's thumbs came out of his eyes and with a shriek the creature melted away to the floor. The melted mess that was once humanoid slurped out of his room through the crack under the door.

He sank to his knees, felt his face. It was sore, but fine. No blood. All smoke and mirrors. 

_Follow the buzzards. Kill the source_

~~~

Dolph had taken to smoking again, just to have excuses to go outside when the atmosphere was too heavy. He was in the designated smoking section of the hotel when Eric Rowan came out of a cloud of blue smoke.

He groaned. He was so fucking tired of Bray's little whispers in his ears and now he was sending his henchman. 

"What do you want?"

The big man said nothing and simply took his elbow. In his free hand, he had a knife that Dolph assumed he snatched out of catering.

Dolph laughed. That was it? Just stab him like some slasher movie? He nodded and pocketed the weapon.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

"Use it however you see fit."

If Dolph didn't know any better he'd say Eric looked sympathetic. The big man lumbered away back into the cloud he'd appeared out of and vanished into the foggy afternoon.

Dolph rushed back into the hotel and to his room. He was so tired. So tired. All he had to do was give someone a little poke with a knife. People blurred right past him on his single-minded trajectory to his room. The knife in his pocket slit his thumb.

Locked in his room, he collapsed on the bed. His legs were restless, he could run for hours and never get tired, never stop. Never get anywhere, never escape.

He got up and went to the bathroom sink to splash some water on his face. Next, he wrapped up his still bleeding thumb, pressing tissue against it until it finally stopped. He took the knife out with a sigh and threw it on the sink counter.

He looked at the knife a good long while, from handle to blade tip.

"Fuck you, Wyatt," he sneered. "I'm not your fucking puppet."

If he had to die he would die clean.

_go now_

Screaming rang out in the hallway. Dolph was running towards it before he even had a chance to reason with himself; he hissed when he saw it was Dean.

Dean was lucky that people already thought he was crazy, otherwise his random screaming would be troublesome. Dolph chuckled darkly at the thought. At least he was safe. He covered his hand with his sleeve and clamped it over the man's mouth. Dean nearly bit his fingers off but Dolph managed to drag him back into his hotel room.

"Dean. Dean, come on baby, snap out of it." He shook him and slapped his face until Dean came around.

Dean looked as exhausted as he felt. His eyes were dark and puffy and he was much gaunter than any pro wrestler had any right to be. He groaned like he'd been through years of this and he knew it wasn't over yet.

"I can't do this anymore." He ran fingers through his hair. "He won't stop."

"Who, Dean?"

"That thing out there calling itself Roman Reigns!"

Dolph was a bit perplexed. Why would Roman be tormenting him so? "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dolph found himself backed up against the wall with a strong forearm. "Yes you do. Randy knew, too, didn't he?"

Dolph tried to squirm free but he was so fucking tired. "He didn't."

"He found out."

"No. It found him, and if you don't keep playing dumb it's coming for you next." He sighed wearily. So tired. He didn't want Dean to give in, wanted him to go down fighting, but who knew if there was even any respite in death? 

"I wish he would just kill you already." He didn't mean it like that, honestly. It slipped out of his tired and frustrated mind. He grimaced as soon as he said it, but Dean was already backing away.

"Yeah. Me too."

Dolph opened his mouth to apologize. "I'm s--"

The door slammed open almost right off its hinges. The hallway was completely covered in the black, twitching mass that dripped from Roman, mirroring the too-fast movements in his face. 

When the tendrils shot out and squeezed his neck, he panicked from the pain and sudden loss of air. But, if he was honest with himself, the snap that followed afterwards was a relief.


	24. Day of the Lords (Roman Reigns/Bray Wyatt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd go ahead and start posting up He's Lost Control part deux and see how I feel about it, will probably be updating slowly since I'm still focused on Rowens Feels - The Musical lol. 
> 
> Hopefully I don't confuse anybody in a bad way about the timeline and don't think of the mini sequels as spoilers or anything. Creepy Roman will be back soon~

Seth was getting the hell out of Dodge.

He stuffed the belongings he had left into a knapsack and threw it onto his shoulder.

He was tired of meetings, patiently waiting for the end and hand wringing their next steps. Stephanie's nervous looks and Hunter going through the five stages of grief.

Triple H had been begging him to hang in there. Pleading. It hurt Seth to see, Triple H really was a backstabbing surrogate dad to him. But things were never getting back to normal and the hour was growing late for all of them.

_"We deal with supernatural business all the time!" Hunter had yelled at him in exasperation one day, after hours._

_Seth, wild-eyed, shot up and slammed his fists on the table._

_"Are you listening to your self? This is beyond yours or anyone's control!"_

_"You can't believe this shit. Bray is a snake oil salesman, a conman, maybe even a magician with a good budget, but he's fucking human!"_

_Seth couldn't say that he had seen things for himself, because that would be a lie. He hadn't. Like everyone else, he had screwed his eyes shut to the truth. But other people had seen things, and that was more than enough for him._

After Roman's defect over to the Wyatt clan, Seth had been shocked. Even more so when he learned the backstage details of how it went down. It was no secret that all Bray was interested in was pure destruction and chaos, and what better lightning rod than someone so focused on justice and order?

Seth and Roman's relationship was strained to say the least, non-existent in the best case scenario. Still, he had to know the truth. He spent a few days hunting him down--he was surprisingly elusive these days--until he finally cornered him backstage after a match, sweaty and missing his shirt. And smiling. That same mysterious, not entirely pleasant smile that he'd been wearing for a while now.

"I'm really surprised at you," Seth tutted. "You can't win so, what, you join a bunch of wackos?"

Roman shrugged. "That's offensive. Besides, it's not about winning anymore, you know?"

Seth was perplexed. "Then...what is it?"

"You know, I began to attach myself to winning so much that it became part of my identity. I was nothing without it. I didn't love myself if I wasn't out there every single night. Bray..." His smile got a little dreamy. "Took me away from all that, taught me to start loving myself."

Seth recoiled. "No way--are you and that psycho--?"

Roman's smile dropped and he grabbed Seth's wrist.

"I'm crazy for making myself better?"

"He's not making you better!" Seth hated every single second that Roman held onto him. His skin was crawling and he was shuddering so hard he could see the other man's arm vibrating.

"Hmm. But you're the one they're grooming, right? So of course you can't tell. I'm so much better. Dean can't see it either, but they're pampering him too."

Seth snatched his arm away. "No one's pampering anyone. You had your chances. More opportunities than some people get in a life time, and you blew them. You can't blame me or Dean for that!"

Roman was suddenly in Seth's face, eye to eye with him and for the first time Seth could see how empty his gaze was.

"Opportunities. Opportunities to be someone's bitch? To suck someone's dick for title shots?"

 _That is not his voice_ , was all Seth could think. _That is not him, oh god who is that?_

"This time...this time..." When Roman laughed it was distinctly Bray Wyatt. He backed away and left, with a gait that wasn't entirely natural.

While The Authority was going over their ruined long-term plans, things went south. Fast. Kane's mask going missing was the first shock. They had all swallowed thickly then, afraid of the repercussions. Had Kane stolen his identity back? Or...?

They needn't have worried, because the mask showed up again a few weeks later. Grafted onto Kane's skin like it had always been there. Needless to say, attempts to take it off failed, usually to the tune of shrieks and injured staff.

But that wasn't when the walls started closing in.

The air was getting thicker with every city they went to. Even the crowds were starting to sense it. Kane's inhuman howling in the hallways and sprouting extra body parts at random set everyone on edge.

Seth was somewhat proud that he wasn't the first to go; that honor belonged to Brock Lesnar with Heyman in tow. Brock didn't have much to say and for once, neither did his mouthy manager.

"Consider this our two weeks notice." Paul paused a moment and pressed his hands together. "And, if I were you..." He shook his head and left.

Things attempted to go on as normal for a few more weeks after that, until Kane's big brother dropped in. And he was not happy.

"Power imbalance," the dead man said, his usual gravel contemplative. "Happens when something starts tampering with his soul. Something that knows how."

"But what do they want?" Hunter stressed. "Why not just possess him already?"

Undertaker had Kane all bound up with protective seals and chains that glowed. "Really, Hunt, unless they're doing it for shits and giggles I can't fathom. Doesn't matter."

Hunter balled his hands up into fists and pressed them against his temples. "Can it be fixed?"

"Everything that can be done, can be undone. I can set you up with a few things, but this..." He gestured to Kane who was starting to thrash. "Not your problem anymore."

Undertaker took his brother away that day and it was like the fog lifted to reveal something much, much worse underneath. Just having Kane there was a security blanket around the whole crew, but with him gone the illusion of safety was up. More people jumped ship. Dates were canceled. The NXT ranks had gotten wind of the main company's problems and were chomping at the bit.

And Bray was there every step of the way to rub it in, with his family not too far behind him. It made Seth ill.

"The Authority has lost their big, red lapdog. What to do...Roman, lamb?"

Roman just chuckled out of sight.

And then the screaming started.

Seth was a light sleeper and prone to night terrors, so it didn't take much to have him jolting out of bed, teeth clacking. He jumped out of his bed and threw on a robe, ran out if only to beat the hell out of whoever it was. But when he got outside he saw Sheamus and one of the Usos of all people huddled over a twitching, thrashing mass against the wall.

Sheamus turned to him, eyes ringed with red from lack of sleep. Seth peered beyond him to see who he was holding.

"Something spooked 'im bad. Real bad."

Seth pushed past the two men and wrapped his arms around Dean like he hadn't done for so long.

"I'm here, shh."

Dean seemed to calm down to trembling breaths and streaming tears. "It f-f-felt like he...he...was t-touching my s...soul..."

"Who?"

Dean's bright, round eyes widened at something behind him. He clutched at Seth's back like he was trying to pull him in tighter and push him away at the same time.

" _Him!_ "

Seth did not turn his head. The screams and Sheamus collapsing told him that whatever was behind him would send him spiraling into madness.

"He went up the wall!"

A flick of long, black hair brushed his shoulder and he felt a bit of plaster hit his head as whatever it was scampered up the wall. He lifted Dean and dragged him back into his room.

Of his own accord, Dean locked himself in the bathroom. When Seth checked in him in the morning, he was gone.

The final nail in the coffin was Randy. The Authority was a bit sour on him still, but when he showed up with intel Hunter couldn't resist.

"Look, I've been looking into this. I don't think I need to say that the Wyatts aren't exactly what they seem, but no one has really said what they are, right?"

Hunter sat back in his chair. "I'm only going to entertain this if you have some viable evidence."

"I did a little research on the compound. All those people we see during promos? They don't exist. They're images, Hunter. Why would he do that?"

Seth's head was starting to hurt. "So those people are fake? What about Luke and Eric? They sure as hell hit real enough."

Randy nodded. "They're real, but they're the only ones. There has to be people there, though, because...there's a lot of rumors of cannibalism out there."

Seth felt his stomach turn. Hunter groaned in kind.

"What. Does he. Want." Each word was punctuated with a barely controlled slam on the table.

"I don't...I don't think he wants anything, Hunter." Randy gripped the edge of the table. "Or rather, I think what he wants we've already given to him. Our fears, our anger."

"Chaos," Seth muttered. "But why now after all this time? And what does Roman have to do with it?"

Randy shook his head. "I haven't gotten that far yet. But all the shit people have been saying they've seen...believe them."

If that didn't make them believe, Orton's disappearance did.

In that final private meeting, Hunter had backhanded Seth so hard he saw stars. Pure frustration at the writing on the wall.

But unlike him, Seth wasn't bound to a sinking ship. He was getting the hell out of here, and hauling Dean off with him.

~~~

Hunter loved reading, something he tried to instill in his girls especially as they got older. He liked nonfiction, but his favorites were the Arthurian legends that the heavy metal bands he idolized sang about. Somewhat predictably for his situation, he kept thinking of the stories of Percival. 

He was no scholar, but he could debate all day long over which version of the tale was better: the French, Chretien, with its mysterious qualities and no ending? Or the German, with its definite story structure but too heavy-handed morals? 

Percival's mistake was never questioning the grand but bizarre, morbid spectacle around him. Hunter supposed to an extent he was guilty of that, too. After all, he never once questioned Kane's demonic properties. And Seth was wrong, he knew damn well that was a force he couldn't control forever.

He was just on good standing with Taker, see, or was until he let all the chaos get to him.

Taker sat across from him with a cigar.

"I thought you quit smoking?"

"Well all fall back on bad habits sometimes."

The cigar was in his hands but wasn't lit, he just held it and fiddled with it.

"Bad for you," Hunter said uselessly. He crunched the balled up sticky note that he was using for a stress ball. Taker nodded and snorted.

"I heard there's some weird shit going on around here. Nothing you can't handle, right?"

It was Hunter's turn to snort, accompanied by the creak of his leather chair. "No, I know when I'm licked. I'm just hanging in there because I don't believe in ghost stories."

Taker raised an eyebrow. "Oh no? Your folks sure seem spooked."

"Well, before Stephanie or anyone else decides to throw holy water all over the place I have been..." He sighed. "Been thinking about sinking four generations worth of work into the ocean. What the hell did I _do_?"

"Unleashed hell."

"Oh, jokes."

Undertaker ran his fingers along his new, reddish chin growth--he was considering the beard again or maybe a soul patch, but he wouldn't know until it filled in again. "You know what I said about tampering with Kane's soul?"

"Yeah? Is he better?"

Taker cut Hunter a glare. "I'm not bringing him back. And yes, he's doing better. But here's the thing. You asked why not just possess him. I did some thinking while I was reversing it...they didn't ever intend to complete it. It was just..."

"A distraction?"

"More than that. They wanted to...sideline him. Did a good job too, but I have to siphon a little of myself into him as well."

Hunter dragged a hand down his face. "Two birds with one stone."

"You got it. Hope that influences your decision." 

The soft scuff of sneakered feet against the bare floors making great tracks outside. The door to Hunter's office was cracked just enough for both of them to see Seth scurrying down the hall, bag in tow. As be passed the door, he gave Hunter a pointed glare.

Hunter thought he might finally start drinking. 

"Not even a two weeks notice, huh?"

He shook his head and sighed. The sticky note in his hand slowly unfurled itself against his finger pads; he let it spread out against his open palm and glanced at it.

_He's got the whole world in his hands........_


	25. Christmas Creature (Kane/Daniel, Goldust/Undertaker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very Hell No Holiday! Were you expecting more creepy shit?! 
> 
> Lol I don't celebrate Christmas this is all uki's fault

Daniel had learned his lesson the last time he'd tried to celebrate a normal, human holiday with Kane. Twice. The first time, Kane tried to eat his puppy; the next, he found the man having a meltdown in the men's restroom because he'd been a very, very bad boy that year. So they hadn't tried anymore.

Then he woke up one morning this December and saw his unmasked demon boyfriend hanging up tinsel and a wreath, while wearing a festive poncho. 

"Wh...what?" 

"Happy holidays!"

Daniel tentatively jingled a bell that was now hanging from his wall. "What...is this? Who are you?"

Kane snorted. "Come on. I thought we'd get into the spirit this year. I'm gonna bake, c'mon."

Daniel found himself being dragged into the kitchen where an assortment of cookies were already waiting for him. Of course Kane was baking; his sweet tooth was so big Daniel was surprised it fit in his head. He quietly munched on a tiny gingerbread man as Kane started floating things out of the pantry with his mind.

He had so many questions, like where exactly did Chef Kane learn to bake, and was his oven safe? but he settled for watching a while in fascination. It was...a deceptively quaint scene, and so domestic that Daniel didn't have the heart to break it up.

"Are we gonna get a tree too?" he said, chuckling.

"Real or plastic?"

"Let's go whole hog, get a real one!"

"The presents will get pine needles," Kane said, rubbing his chin. "But if it's what you want."

Daniel's pupils shrank. "Presents?"

Kane smirked. "What'd you think I was doing all last week, devouring souls?" His laugh was a little too deep to be unconvincing. "Don't answer that."

Daniel pushed his chair back and grabbed his cellphone off the island.

"Where ya going?" 

"Upstairsillbeback!" 

Daniel ran up the stairs to the study they both shared for business purposes that seemed to largely coincide with goofing off on the internet. He slammed the door closed and sank behind it, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

He could never remember the exact steps to summon the Undertaker, but he could usually get Goldust pretty easily and that was close enough.

"Heeeello?"

"Goldust. Heeelp." 

"Umm. Did someone attack you again?" 

"No. Kane wants to celebrate Christmas." 

A pregnant pause. "Oh. So that's why people are running around with those silly chapeaux. Buuut how am I helping?" 

"What would you do if you were me? I need someone to bounce ideas off of." 

"I would probably get to know my lover more throughout the year to figure out the kind of things they like."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Oh haha, funny. Asshole."

"Well?" 

"I know what he likes! None of it is appropriate for Christmas!"

"I don't see why not." Goldust hummed. "Let's see, if Undertaker were to suddenly decide he wanted to celebrate a mortal holiday with me, I wouuulld...ask subtly probing questions first."

"Okay. Okay, that's the best idea you've had so far, glad I called."

"Hey--"

Daniel hung up before Goldust could say anything more. He let his head fall against the door with a thunk and he sighed; the smell of too much sugar and vanilla and flour was already wafting up from under the door and it made his mouth water and his mind nostalgic.

Before he got up, he shot a text to Goldust. _Be on standby in case I need you. or I die._ He slipped his phone into his back pocket and went back downstairs.

In the kitchen, Kane was hunched over the counter humming what vaguely sounded like something off one of Daniel's Best of Grunge playlists. As he got closer, he realized it was "Pretend We're Dead". 

"Kane?" 

The man startled slightly and turned around. "Oh. What happened?" 

"Just...had to make a phone call!" Daniel folded his hands behind his back. "So, um, what did you want most as a child?" 

Kane stared at him. "Do you think I actually had a childhood?" 

Daniel gritted his teeth and swore. "I mean, well. If. You know. Is there anything you want?" 

"You don't have to get me anything, Daniel." 

_That's what they all say!_ Daniel thought. "I didn't say that."

"Then why...?"

"This is too complicated, I gotta go get some air." 

Daniel brushed past Kane and out the back door, leaving the demon to stare at his receding form with a wooden spoon in his hand.

The sun was high in the sky and there wasn't a cloud in sight on this unseasonably mild winter day, so Daniel took to the streets, hands stuffed in his pockets. People in this area largely left the two of them alone, so long as they remembered to bring their own bags to the organic markets. 

His phone buzzed, vibrating against his back side. He snatched it out quickly to read his text.

_Did that go well?_ from Goldust.

_Nnnnope._ he sent back. A few minutes later a reply came.

_id take you shopping but im in another dimension gyahahaha_

Daniel was more than used to his unofficial brother-in-law at this point. But sometimes, Goldust was really normal and then sometimes, he was really strange again. Daniel didn't know which scared him more. 

_I'm gonna fuck this up_ he tried again, hoping for a more sympathetic reaction.

_No you won't. I thought I had fucked up Taker's birthday but you know what he said?_

_Did he say ::muttermutter::? Wait does he have a birthday_

_haha funny asshole. He said as long as I was there that was good enough for him. Then I ate him. Take that as you will._

Daniel turned his screen off and stood for a moment on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky.

"Maybe that weirdo is right. Maybe I should stop looking for material things and just enjoy my time with my boyfriend, and be grateful he wants to do something for me." He cast a sidelong gaze and did a double take when he realized he was in front of a shop specializing in taxidermy. 

"Eh, who am I kidding." 

~~~

When Daniel returned with his humongous box, Kane was set up in the living room with a bowl of punch and a tray of cookies. That he appeared to be eating alone. Daniel unloaded the box in front of the stairwell and circled around to join him on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"You're arms are red, what happened?" Kane pointed at his bicep.

"I'm a professional wrestler, I have weird scars everywhere."

Kane sighed through his nose. "You got something, didn't you?"

"Yesss?"

"I wanted to make this special for you, Daniel, not myself." Kane leaned into the edge of the couch. "I know I'm not very good at affection, and I tried to eat your last Christmas gift to me, but...I thought a special night of the year...would make up for me being a monster all that time." 

A smile slowly spread across Daniel's face and he hooked his arm around Kane's elbow, dragged him down until the taller man was almost draped over him. Kane wrapped his arms around him and clenched one of his fists; the fireplace lit up with an eerie, unnatural red flame that cast dancing shadows across their faces. Despite it being quite warm out, the cozy heat from the flickering flames didn't bother Daniel at all, made him feel fuzzy inside.

"You never answered my question from before, though."

"I want... this. What we have right now." Kane turned his face into Daniel's hair. "But...what did you get anyway."

"Hmm, maybe if you're a good boy, something dead."

"Dead?" 

Kane's businessman exterior melted away to reveal a starry-eyed boy with a wide gap-toothed smile. Daniel looked up and saw all the reward he needed for a job well done. He pulled his boyfriend down for an awkward, upside down kiss.

"Best holiday ever," he muttered.


	26. Day of the Lords B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol hi everyone I'm alive, back with more of this fic where nothing good happens? I know its weird to read it nestled in with ese other one shots so once it's done I will more than likely split it off.
> 
> Warnings for hallucinations, dub con, tentacle sex, dark humor, Bray and Roman being a cute couple, and cannibalism

Bray had made it to the mountain top but he has failed his final test. He knows that.

But being damned never felt so good. Nothing was as good as Roman's flesh between his hands, sinking his teeth in.

Sister Abigail said if he could capture him, he could have him.

 _But he'll never be yours_ , she whispered. _You must choose his sin or continue on my path._

She was so confident that he would make the right decision. But he was weak. He evaded her at every turn to fill Roman with his power, free him from mortal bonds so they could be together.

 _Are you going to let him control you?_ Sister Abigail hissed. _Are you going to wallow in his sin?_

_Shut up shutupshutupshutup I WANT HIM_

She was shocked into silence by his insolence. Truthfully, he was too but there was no taking it back. 

"Bray...?" the man underneath him cooed. Bray slumped forward, their sticky bare chests heaving in time. He groaned when Roman idly twirled a strand of his hair.

"It's nothing, lamb."

Yeah, he'd crossed a line. She'd always told him about getting smart with her, but this? Unforgivable.

"Is she talking to you again?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

Roman turned onto his side and let himself be cradled. "I'm a burden to you."

"Not at all. You're my light."

He looked down at those big brown eyes, the thick lips set in a languid smile; he was beginning to hum.

Yes, he'd made his choice. Those eyes were going to send him right to hell. He couldn't deny the man anything, but there was one thing he wanted that Bray loathed.

Dean Ambrose. They had been friends before his change, but Roman had accepted the man was a liar and a snake. Or he had, until he started getting ideas of redemption.

Their first argument was quite docile. There weren't TVs or anything like that in the compound, so Roman had taken to reading while Bray worked on the day's sacrifices.

"Bray," his lamb had said softly. "Everyone looks at me funny now."

"They just don't recognize real beauty when they see it." Bray smiled over his shoulder and Roman returned it; he loved his flirty side.

"I think they're scared."

"They should be."

Roman laughed and laughed, until Bray noticed his laughter had turned into sobs. Bray was immediately at his side, rubbing small circles in his back.

"Now, now, what is it?"

"I hate this!" Roman hit himself in the chest. "I hate it!"

Bray tilted Roman's head up. "Why do you hate what I so love?"

Roman shook his head. It was a game, they both knew that. Roman had pushed the boundaries of Bray's affections since day one. If he hungered for human flesh, Bray would gladly hand off one of the weaker followers; if he wanted companionship, they would be together. But his obsession with saving Ambrose was the limit.

"I want him. Can't you save him, too?"

"He will refuse, dove."

"You just don't want to. You don't love me."

Bray sighed; Roman could be exhaustingly juvenile sometimes. "Don't say that."

" _Bring him to me!_ "

"Am I not good enough for you, dove? After all I've given you? Please let me know so I can throw myself in the fucking ocean!"

Roman sat back, wholly unused to such language from the prophet's mouth. Bray sighed and pressed his hands over his ears.

"Forgive me. I lost my temper."

"No, I...made you mad. I'm sorry. I just miss him."

Bray seethed but let Roman rest on him for comfort. He could already hear Sister Abigail's taunting "told ya so". But there was a work around here. After all, Dean was mortal, and the comforting thing about mortals is that they're pretty easy to kill.  
~~~

Dean had limped home from the club that night, the night of Roman's defect, broken and empty. Several fans had offered him rides but the thought of human company made him want to vomit. He was going back to his hotel, and he was fucking going home for a few days. To think, to get away from all this. To escape what he had just seen.

Because he was hardly a planner, he made a beeline straight for the room he and Renee were low-key sharing, and started packing right in front of her.

"Dean!"

He was mindlessly throwing his worldly possessions into his suitcase, not even peeking up from behind his curtain of hair. He flinched when Renee's slim fingers gripped his wrist.

"What are you doing? Please, don't run."

Was that what he was doing? "I can't stay here. I can't."

"Didn't you speak to Roman?"

"I..." He quickly brushed away the tears stinging his eyes. "Yeah. I did."

"He's...he's really gone, isn't he?"

Dean slumped down onto the bed. "I pushed him right into that monster's hands, and I don't even know how!" He looked at Renee with pleading eyes. "Did he hate me all this time?"

Renee shook her head and sat down. "The Roman I know _can't_ hate you. It's just...when people are in a bad place, sometimes, that makes them vulnerable. They'll listen to anything to make sense of their world. Bray just sold him something to believe in, even if it's fake."

Dean snarled and punched his fist into his palm. "Fuck him."

"Exactly. So, don't run. He needs you right now."

Dean nodded and leaned into Renee's comforting touch, breathed her scent in. He kept that memory in mind as everything shifted around him for the worst.

It was the first thing he thought of when Seth came barreling into the work out area like a one man A-Team.

"Dean." His doe-like eyes were wide. "Come on."

He sounded like he had made up his mind already and "no" was not an option. Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Where we going?"

"As far away from this bullshit as we can."

Dean snorted. "Aw, is a little oogie boogie scaring lil Seth?"

Seth gave a great, undignified sigh. "Excuse the fuck out of me, but I'm not the one screaming for my life every night!"

Dean turned his back and shrugged his coat off. "Got me there. But I ain't leaving." 

Seth was beside himself. "You're kidding me. Are you as fucking crazy as everyone else here now?"

"Must be. What's that bruise on your neck?"

Seth followed Dean to the weight rack, subconsciously rubbing the purple blemish from his lower right cheek to his collarbone.

"It's nothing."

"Doesn't look like a ring injury."

"Hunt...Triple H got mad at me."

Dean paused mid-lift. "He hit you?"

"Yeah. Hard. He's pissed at everything."

"Does he come down from his ivory tower long enough to be mad?"

"He...knows." Seth rubbed his arm. "He knows a lot."

Dean regarded him skeptically but didn't push it. "I ain't leaving. He needs me."

"Who? That walking corpse?"

Dean growled. "Don't fuck with me, Rollins."

"Dean, I'm serious. I...know you don't want to hear this from me of all people, but I...I..."

"You what?"

"Care." Seth spat like the word offended him. "I still care, alright? We need to get out of here before it's too late."

"Jesus Christ, Seth, melodramatic much?" 

They didn't seem him at first, just heard his commanding baritone. But soon multiple copies of Roman, in the mirrors, were surrounding them, pacing slowly and bleeding in and out of one another.

He finally came to rest behind Dean, arms crossed. He looked at Seth with a dull glare.

Seth swallowed. "You."

"Me. Now, what is it you think I'm going to do to my brother?"

Seth reached forward and grabbed hold of Dean's arm. "Not yours."

Roman chuckled. "You were always jealous, weren't you? You didn't understand how we could fight and make up the next minute. That doesn't exist in your world. It's all hatehatehate and watching your back every five minutes."

"Dean. He can't make you stay. All you have to do is get up."

"But you want to stay, right Dean?"

Dean looked between the two of them. The traitor trying to save him and his best friend who was trying to eat him alive. He felt so weak his arms were shaking. 

"Seth...I can't..."

"Dean, don't make me beg." 

Seth's voice was choked full of tears, real tears and not the crocodile kind. Dean allowed himself to be pulled up and against his chest.

"Okay. Okay."

Seth breathed a sigh of relief. He patted Dean's back and drew him closer.

"Really? He tried to kill you, right?" Roman looked incredulous, then cycled to angry. 

"Yeah, he's gonna die if he stays with you though." Seth was walking them both backwards, whispering into Dean's hair.

Roman rolled his eyes. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and pressed his finger tip into the glass, smirked.

"Watch out for that thing in the floor."

"Huh?"

Seth was falling before he realized, swearing at his incompetence. Dean yelped as they both went down over the weight he swore wasn't there before. How did it even get there? Stupid, fucking stupid.

He fell wrong. Did he twist? No, he was trying to catch Dean. But it was awkward. He heard a disgusting pop and Dean rolled over him like a sack of wet laundry. The pain was immediate and burning and he was yelling.

"Oh, god. Your ankle!"

"What's going on here?"

Triple H had heard the commotion and followed it to the work out room, followed it to see Seth holding onto his leg and Roman laughing with unrestrained glee at the sight. Even a hard glare in his direction didn't deter him.

"Ambrose, what happened here?"

"I--we tripped and fell together."

Triple H frowned as he assessed Seth's leg. "What the hell were you doing? Roman, it's not funny."

Dean glared at Roman. "I don't know. It was an accident, I swear."

"See, Seth? He hates you so much he broke your ankle! Loser."

"That's enough, Roman! His ankle isn't broken, for one thing. It's just twisted. Maybe a torn tendon." Triple H gingerly patted Seth's arm. "You'll be up and at em in no time. Second, could you please be more careful with the future of this company? Hm?"

"Is that why you're slapping him around?" Dean huffed. Triple H turned his glare from Roman to him. 

"Excuse me, Ambrose?" 

"That's the bruise, right?"

"God, Dean, not now," Seth hissed.

"But that's what you said!"

Triple H caught one of Roman's reflections smiling in the mirror. Don't give in to it, he thought to himself.

"Boys. Okay. I have been rough with Seth, and I apologize. That got out of hand. But right now I need to help him, okay?"

"Nonono. I told you, I'm leaving."

"Not with that foot." Triple H stood, taking Seth up with him. He balanced the man with an arm wrapped around his waist and one of Seth's arms over his shoulder. "To the clinic we go."

Roman grabbed hold of Dean before he could follow.

"Don't. I need you. Please?"

Dean melted into him. 

Seth sighed as Hunter led him out of the area. The both of them deliberately chose not to look at the spider line carvings into the mirrors that followed them.

_MY_

_FRIEND_

 

Triple H dragged Seth along, Seth who was growing increasingly stiff like the rigor mortis was setting in. He was used to Undertaker going full carcass on him periodically but Undertaker was, well, dead. Seth was not...to his knowledge.

He looked back and saw Seth's mask of agony.

"I know it hurts, but just imagine if it was broken." Triple H whistled. "Not fun. You don't get hurt because of training, right?"

Seth nodded. "Y-yeah."

"So what happened? You two dancing?"

Seth attempted a chuckle at that. "Hunter...I..."

"I know you want to leave, Seth. But I'm asking you to trust me. I can protect you, okay? I fucked up with Roman, I can admit that."

"Hunter, please put me down ow ow ow fuck this hurts!"

Seth was sagging down, and Hunter deposited him right outside his office. Undertaker was still inside, and he turned to see what the commotion was.

"Hurt?"

Hunter nodded then turned his attention to Seth's ankle. It still looked the same as earlier, swollen and a little bruised, but not bad. But Seth was flailing like his whole leg was on fire.

"It hurts so fucking bad!"

Undertaker came out and helped prop the leg up. "You can't focus on the pain, that'll just make it worse." He looked at Hunter and mouthed 'psychosomatic'. "Come on, try to walk."

"Seth, you can't tell me you've never had a busted ankle. You can do this."

"It's not...busted! It feels like...coming out of it...!"

Seth looked down and saw his flesh bubbling and shifting as whatever lied beneath tried to work its way out. Something sharp and black finally poked its way through, like a reptile from its egg, and took a few tentative jolts at the air before an indescribable mass spilled out, wriggling and seeping into the floor.

"What is wrong with him!" Hunter had leaped off the cliff of panic as he tried to give directions to the 911 dispatch.

"He's...seeing something. I don't know what, but he's seeing something we can't."

Seth's eyes rolled back and he went limp. The noisy sirens were a great comfort to Hunter, for once, as he watched his brightest and best go into shock from what should have been no more than a simple sprain. He glanced at Undertaker as Seth was carried away, hid his choked sob under a cough.

"I should have let go."

"You don't know that he would have--"

"I should have just let go."

"Hunter..." Undertaker rested a cool hand on Hunter's suit jacket but didn't say anything else.

~~~

In the break room, Roman gleefully bent, twisted, and chewed on his plastic straw. 

"You want your drink?" Dean asked.

"Nah, you take it." 

For a moment, it felt like old times. Roman had deliberately ordered a flavor he disliked that Dean coincidentally did like and let him have it. Dean sighed, took the cap off and sipped slowly.

"You...hurt Seth, didn't you." 

Because it wasn't a question, Roman smiled. "I don't want you to leave me."

"I...don't want to leave you either. But I might have to."

Roman's placid façade fell. "Why?"

"I might not have a choice..."

Dean was trying not to tremble; Roman took his hands and brought them close.

"You do. You're my only friend here, you know? You get me. That's why I want you here." He kissed one of Dean's knuckles. "Please?"

Dean knew he was falling for something but he couldn't help it. He nodded and let Roman caress and brush his lips against against his fingertips. Like old times, but better.

"Can I show you something?" Roman was looking at the ground strangely and twiddling his thumbs, almost coy. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Show me what?"

"It's...private. Let's go to the bathroom."

Dean let Roman tug him along towards the men's restroom in the hallway. They were surprisingly clean, sterile even. He pulled Dean into the largest stall and locked the door.

Dean leaned against the cool hard plastic wall as Roman took his own shirt off and then Dean's. Their skin pressed together felt perfect and right, and Dean let his hands rove all over the expanse of Roman's back, memorized the bumps and ridges of muscle, ring injuries, and tattoo scars.

He softly nibbled Roman's neck, completely forgetting about the alleged secret. His fingers tripped over loose strands of hair, and then something harder and yet somehow pliant. It felt...wrong. Dean let his fingers get tangled in it.

"Roman...your back..."

"Hm? Oh." Roman came out of his dreamy haze and pulled away. He tossed his head back and shook his hair free from the mass of tendrils slowly snaking their way from his back. Dean instinctively jerked away but Roman caught him before he got too far.

"Ah-ah-ah."

Dean shuddered but he had nowhere to go. "Fuck, Ro, what is that!"

"Something new Bray gave me." Roman tittered. "He gives me lots of nice things."

"Roman, let me go."

"You wanted this, right?"

Roman pulled Dean in for a kiss, surprising and horrible in its gentleness. Dean whimpered helplessly, caught between revulsion and pleasure. The tendrils wrapped themselves around his waist and some dived into his jeans, aiming straight for his erection. It felt like cords on his skin; sensation on his warm skin made him shiver and sigh.

Roman breathed against his neck. "...with me."

Dean moaned and sank in, gave in. He sighed again when his cock was freed from his jeans and stroked, alternately with Roman's hand and...he tried not to think about it. He closed his eyes and let his hips thrust of their own accord, muttering nonsense into the Samoan's ear and hair.

"Look at me when you come."

Dean's eyes flashed and he looked into Roman's face, his lips perfectly parted and the eyes he used to drown in were empty and blank.

Dean tore his gaze away as he came with a muffled shout, shame and horror having their way with him. He shoved Roman away and dived out of the restroom stall half dressed, followed by mocking laughter.

Roman pressed his head up against the tile wall. Once his laughing fit was over, he pouted and rubbed his fingers along the grooves.

"He's just like you said he is. But he's my friend, I can't just give up on him..."

Dean found a corner to collapse in after minutes of running, but he wouldn't have peace for long. A strong pair of hands grabbed his neck and brought him up for the chokeslam.

"Jesus, Hunt, put him down!"

Hunter did not listen, instead shoved Dean against the wall. He had questions, oh yes, lots of them, but they flew out of his mouth in a wail of angry gibberish.

Undertaker rescued him. He pulled Hunter back and let Dean drop to the floor, gagging. 

"You're doing exactly what they want, Hunter."

"Well, it's better than the fucking alternative!" Hunter bit his fist and ran his hands over his head. "Oh, god, Dean. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Where is Roman?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Dean scrubbed his eyes with his fists. "Seth?"

"Hospital. He's...he had a meltdown of sorts."

"A...melt down?" Dean felt like another level of safety had been blown back. "But..."

"I can't explain it, but looks like he's going to be out for a while. We're going to have to vacate the title." He allowed himself a cynical smile. "Congrats to the whole locker room. Let's talk."


	27. Can Only Go So Low (Triple H/Cats)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hunter vs Cats Saga continues! The epic of our times!!
> 
> I've often thought about making Twitter accounts for my cats but I have to have some kind of dignity

Triple H idly stroked Starla while checking his Twitter timeline. He maintained a facade of only being interested for business purposes, but in reality he was obsessed with it.

He had an entire list dedicated to cat pictures and videos that he showed to his own cat. Raising an only cat was tough, sort of like his kids. Except he wasn't raising the cat to be independent with morals and values.

Anyway, he frequently worried about socialization. Some of the cat gurus he spoke to warned him that although most house cats were independent, he should consider gradually introducing her to other cats to improve her social skills.

Stephanie insisted the cat was just spoiled.

"You bottle fed her until she was two months old!"

Hunter pouted. "She didn't want solid food!"

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "That kitty is not going to tolerate another cat. She's going to bully it."

"No she won't. Starla is sweet, she just needs friends."

The thought of Starla being lonely got Hunter all choked up. But how to introduce her to other cats? He was hardly a matchmaker, and everyone he knew with cats either lived too far away or they were freaking weird. 

Case in point, Stardust. Should have never given that guy a kitten. Last he heard, he was illustrating a graphic novel series based on the cat's intergalactic adventures.

He sighed; he was failing as a cat parent. He switched back to his business list and quickly skimmed through the long, long roster until he felt like his eyes were going to fall out. As he got near the end, he noticed a few kitten pictures not from Tyson were infiltrating his account. Did he accidentally switch lists? No, they were coming from Kalisto.

"What is a lucha kitty?" he asked out loud. He clicked through Kalisto's mentions--he's a good boss, seriously--until he found the source of the photos.

"Oh my god. The cat has a Twitter account."

He's seen pet accounts before, but Kalisto had Twitters and Instagrams for both of his and that was amazing. And people seemed to love it despite the touch of overkill. The internet was truly a gift.

Maybe Kalisto would consider a play date? He had to ask. Despite his ring appearance, Kalisto was pretty normal. Well. He chuckled.

But how to ask? That was hardly something that would come up in a business meeting. He pondered it as Starla kneaded his thigh with freshly trimmed claws.

Well, the solution was simple and terrible.

He created a new account hooked up to an old email he hadn't used in ages. After deciding on a name and tweaking some settings, he sighed with self satisfied horror.

From his own account, he tweeted, "I've made a Twitter account for my cat. Send help. And follow."

Starla looked at the laptop and pawed at her own image. "Mao?"

"We're gonna make you a lot of new friends, girl." He grinned. "Okay, what did you do today?"

"Mrr."

"Napped, got it."

He logged in to the fresh pet account and tweeted into the aether. A few likes and a few minutes later, he reached out to Kalisto.

"Daddy says your kitties and me should hang out."

He had never felt dorkier. He even tried to think of times where he had actually been dorkier and nope, nothing topped that. 

Kalisto, who had no such shame, responded a few moments later.

"Eeeeeeek! Triple H??!!"

He sighed; don't rub it in, it's a yes or no question. And finally, to complete his cycle of cat depravity, good old Stevie Richards with his feline-radar sent a caps-fueled cat meme.

"PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN."

He rubbed his temples. He couldn't go back now, and he was alright with that.


	28. Blue Eyed Hexe (Shawn Michaels/Kevin Nash)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now that I have a few active projects going on, I said to myself if I had to complete one thing before I die it's going to be this totally unnecessary follow up one shot to a one shot.
> 
> In my head, Kevin's mystery friend is Jordan Belfort. Warnings for drug use and slapstick

Kevin shouldn't have fucked Shawn, let alone fucked him three times.

What the hell was he thinking? It was impulsive, and stupid. He'd been hypnotized, damnit. Even Kid was ragging on him about it--and how did he know?! 

He sighed in the back of the taxi. He needed a bottle of vodka and a time machine. 

He had to face Shawn eventually, considering he was still HBK's bodyguard. It would look suspicious to see them not traveling together and lesser people might take advantage of that rift. But no one said he had to do it sober, and even if they did, he wasn't gonna. 

Rather than a hotel, he was secretly crashing at an old friend's mansion; the friend liked parties so there was sure to be all kinds of vice and illicit activities around him. He could get lost in that sort of thing. And as long as he could function in the morning, nobody asked and nobody cared.

He paid for his ride and got out of the car. Per the friend's instructions, he was at the bottom of the gated village that was his whole estate and he had a colossal walk ahead of him. Rubbing his knee once for good measure, he started hiking.

For someone that was so coke-paranoid, the old man was sure lax on security. The front security let him in without too much trouble, and the front door was unlocked and no lights were on despite the lateness of the hour. He let himself in to the heavy scent of cologne and overly-sweet perfume in the hallway, and a mess of leather jackets. He kicked one over and found himself staring at it intently.

"Something wrong, Kevin?"

His friend was in the hallway, suit and tie askew and kiss prints on his face.

"It's nothing." Kevin clapped the shorter man on the back. "What we got?"

Kevin liked the ambiance of the place; a strip club without the annoying bartenders, drunks he didn't like falling over him, or fans deciding they needed an autograph more than Cindy on their lap. He helped himself to the wet bar and it wasn't too long before someone slipped some pills in his hand. So fast he didn't even see them before they slipped out of sight.

The dimly-lit world was getting fuzzy. He felt like he was sinking into the couch with the weight of people talking to him and girls running their hands on his chest and between his legs. One particular blonde was whispering all the right things in his ear and twirling her fingers in his hair like a school girl, while the loser next to him was babbling drunkenly about TV shows

It was all giving Kevin a headache. He kissed the girl's cheek and stood up.

"Go get a room, baby. Gotta take a piss, I'll be back."

The girl got up to find an open room. Kevin turned socked the guy in the face before he took to the stairs. 

The slightly fresher air upstairs cleared his head even if the pounding music was still interrupting his thoughts. He ran his shoulder into the bathroom door rather than open it conventionally and staggered in.

And right into his self-made problem. Shawn standing at the sink, face deep in...something. He shook his hair out of his face.

"Why, if it isn't Kev."

Before Kevin could retreat, Shawn grabbed his wrist and dragged him in, taking advantage of the uneven flooring and Kevin's inebriation. Kevin swore as he dropped down heavily on the toilet seat. Shawn shut the door behind him.

"You didn't think I DIDN'T have anyone following ya, did ya? You've been avoiding me."

"You've been stalking me."

Shawn tapped his chin. "Hmm, stalking is a strong word. I just didn't know how fun you were! I wanna be pals."

Kevin rolled his eyes at Shawn's definition of "pals". 

"Look, that was a mistake."

Shawn pouted. "I'm a mistake?"

"You certainly are. A big one."

"But look what I got for you..."

Shawn wiggled his pants down to expose the very good of his thighs; he turned slightly and pointed to his hip. Kevin squinted at the tattoo, the skin around it still pinkish. In fanciful but readable cursive, Shawn had gotten "Kevin's cockslut" permanently inked on his skin.

Well, as Kid would tell him about now, as long as he owned up to his mistakes he still had a chance to redeem himself later. So he was fucking up. It was totally okay that he was lubing Shawn's asshole with hair product and had him bent over a sink that wouldn't hold them both for long.

Shawn moaned and spread his legs wider. Kevin grabbed a fistful of his hair and grabbed the base of his own cock; without any warning or real care, he slid himself in to the hilt in one motion, while Shawn garbled something that was either his name or "yes".

The sink underneath them shuddered and dipped. Shawn's noises were rivaling the sound system downstairs. Kevin threw his head back and let out a long groan of his own, the effects of the booze, drugs, and Shawn's ass around his dick was making his head swell.

Kevin took Shawn off the sink and shoved him against the wall, wrapped both his legs around him and thrust up. Shawn let his head roll back against the cool wall as he dragged his nails down Kevin's back, marking him with welts.

"You'd better fucking come," Shawn growled in his ear with a dangerous edge. Teeth clamped down next, hard on the fleshiest part of Kevin's shoulder.

Kevin howled, let Shawn unceremoniously drop to the floor on his knees. He pumped his dick until he came, shooting his seed onto Shawn's face and chest.

The two of them stayed that way for a few minutes, panting drowned out by the music downstairs. Shawn took a tentative taste of the semen on his face and grinned.

"You could have got my mouth."

"Big as that fucker is, I wouldn't have had to aim."

There was pounding and scratching on the bathroom door. "The bathrooms are a safe zone, assholes!" someone whined.

"So how long you known, uh..."

"A couple years? Honestly, he owes me a favor."

"Sounds like a real dick."

Shawn and Kevin completely ignored the furious patron to clean themselves up. Finally, Kevin kicked the door open and sent whosoever flying into the stair rails. He recognized him as the guy he was pretty sure he'd killed a while ago.

"I've got a girl in here waiting in me, somewhere, if you want to come. Cockslut."

Shawn kicked the guy in the ribs for good measure. "Don't mind if I do."


	29. The Valentine-kara Special (multiple)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRIIIISE it's a belated series of V-Day centric microfics that I didn't think warranted posting separately lol
> 
> Some smut, some not; it's up to YOU to find out which ones.

Gangrel _fwip'd_ into existence, same as he always did, accompanied by grey smoke and his usual four note scare chord.

The Undertaker coughed under his thin blanket that shielded him from the sun.

"So your honey didn't get you anything for Valentine's Day, huh?"

Undertaker mumbled.

"What's that?"

Three bloodless fingers pushed the blanket back away from his face. "I said, I can't believe you practiced violin for three centuries just to play that one song."

The vampire pouted. "Violin is hard! Hey, yer just mad the gold one isn't even acknowledging your existence."

"He is."

There was a pregnant pause between them.

"Then...where is he?"

Undertaker sighed in defeat. "I don't know. We don't talk about holidays. We don't 'celebrate'."

"Well, I'll be your honey." The violin disappeared and Gangrel held out his hands, manifested two goblets of red liquid. He hopped off his perch on the couch and floated into the kitchen. There was expensive tinkling and he came back a few minutes later holding a crystal bowl.

Undertaker sat up, curious.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Gangrel said proudly, and nudged the bowl over. 

"That's...my mother's good serving bowl."

"I didn't say I was going to get you anything new. It was the thought that counted."   
~~~~~~

The tiny pink box with the streamers, Finn could tell that was from Bayley. The leopard print box with the streamers was almost certainly from Nick and Matt.

His hands hovered over which to open first; he was so nervous and excited and it made his very fingers tremble. He decided on the pink box first, carefully opening it so as not to ruin the carefully glued on streamers.

Inside...was another box. A purple one with gold spray paint for decoration. This one popped open, and inside was--infuriatingly--another box with a lid. He sighed and pulled the top off the final box. He gasped.

Under the tiny squares of paper were two perfect replications of himself in Lego form: "normal" Finn, and black and red covered Demon Finn. He squealed and held his tiny selves to his chest for a good five minutes before remembering he had another box.

He used his tiny Lego hands to mercilessly shred the wrapping paper--he had enough streamers--and dug into the box greedily, only to be greeted with...a Mount Rushmore 2.0 shirt. 

Finn sighed and it quickly turned into an exasperated laugh. He didn't expect the Bucks to drop their ego for one second let alone a whole day, but could they BE anymore--

When he grabbed the shirt he felt something hard. And fragile. The backing? He unwrapped the shirt from around whatever it was and uncovered a photo frame.

The frame was black and of exquisite quality, and the picture it housed was one of himself and the Bucks on either side of him smooshing their lips against his cheeks while he beamed. A card fell out from behind, too.

"Just kidding. Happy V-Day. Miss ya."

He sighed happily and fell back on the bed with his Lego-selves and picture and ill-fitting T-shirt.

"Miss you all too," he muttered.   
~~~~~~

_Hmm, a Stargate_ , Ophidian thought. _In the middle of the desert. Nice._

In the distance atop the massive stargate, Amasis made a heart shape with his hands. Ophidian grinned and made a heart symbol back.

_I hate to tell him all I got him was a box of drugstore chocolates._  
~~~~~~

Hunter collapsed on the stairs under the weight of his girls, all giggles and kisses planted all over his cheeks.

"Happy Valentine's Day, daddy!" they squealed.

Stephanie rushed to get her phone to take a picture. She framed the shot and paused for the girls to stop wiggling.

"Wait. Something's missing. Oh, I know!"

She ducked back into the kitchen and pulled the silver, chubby cat away from her food bowl. Starla protested until she was placed on top of her daddy's head.

Hunter looked up. "Please hurry." 

Stephanie took her sweet time. "Everyone say 'cheese'!"

~~~~~~

Prince Puma regarded himself in the mirror in dismay. He could handle the pink cat ears and fuzzy collar, but did Johnny have to go with the furry tail butt plug too? 

He gestured. _Seriously?_

Johnny was grinning from ear to ear on the bed, head propped up on one hand and the other making a come hither gesture.

"I've never seen a kitty walk on two leee-eegs~"

Puma sighed and dropped to his hands and knees. The stupid shit he did to get belly rubs.   
~~~~~~

Roman chuckled from deep within his soul at Dean's horrified expression. The once pink striped box was stained dark at the bottom. Dean was scampering away from it as fast as he possibly could.

"That. Is not. Fucking funny, Roman!" he shrieked.

"It is!" Roman gasped out between laughs. "It totally is! Get it? I thought you could use a 'hand'. Happy Valentine's Day!"  
~~~~~~

"One banana, two banana, three banana...okay, down."

Irwin relaxed and lowered his lover to about chest level. Ted casually flipped through his issue of _Forbes_.

"Good job love. What's next? Curls? Bench pressing?"

Irwin nestled his face into Ted's collar. "I'll _press_ you on a bench, alright."

Ted gasped. "You _devil_!"  
~~~~~~

True, the lingerie did look much like Chyna's usual ring wear, but she tended not to wrestle with a strap-on if she could help it.

She grinned at the golden treasure on her bed, bound up and gagged and nude and _glorious_.

"Undertaker said I had to return you mostly unharmed." She knelt on the bed and prodded his asshole with the tip of her lubed up cock. "But he didn't define mostly. So, what's about...sixty percent of wrecking your ass?" 

She slid in with a single thrust; Goldust moaned from behind his gag and clenched helplessly at his restraints.

"Good enough for me."   
~~~~~~ 

Unfortunately for Syxx, a used sock was all Dallas had had on hand to shove in his mouth to shut him the fuck up. Running his mouth had gotten him nothing but trouble tonight, and unfortunately being hogtied in an alleyway didn't seem to be the end of his troubles.

He had no idea where Dallas had gotten one of those vibrating wand things--didn't really want to think about it--but he was pressing it to his thigh and _fuck_ it was vibrating clear through the material of his tights right to his dick.

He let out a series of muffled screams. Dallas yanked his hair, still greasy from the ring, and pressed his lips to his ear.

"C'mon, kid, this is Jersey; no one's gonna help you."

Syxx's moans died down and he let himself fall limply into Dallas's hands. Dallas dutifully untied him but blocked his paths to freedom with his large frame.

"You gonna be good?"

Syxx thought about it, then shook his head. Dallas turned the vibrating wand back on hi-speed.

"Didn't think so."


	30. Day of the Lords C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creep fic is BACK everyone! I wanted more on this part but I gotta start churning this out again before creative turns Dean full heel and this is no longer an AU lol. BUT it's almost over...
> 
> Warnings for attempted murder, gore without Rhyno, everyone freaking out, major character death, and me finally realizing I forgot the K in Erick

Two days later, Seth groaned and pushed himself up in his hospital bed.

"Vacate the title?" He hated himself for it but he thought he might cry. "Why? The doctor said I'm going to be fine!"

"Seth, you broke your own foot with your brain," Hunter said bluntly. "Until we get you checked out by mental health professionals, I wouldn't risk your well-being in the ring just yet."

"But Tri--Hunter," Seth pleaded, "I can defend it. I'm sorry I tried to leave, okay? I freaked out. I don't know how I hurt my foot but...but..." He balled up his fists and broke off his own trail of thought. "Do you really think I want to just leave everything I've worked for? _We've_ worked for?"

Hunter narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Seth scrubbed away tears from his face and turned into his pillow.

"Can't I drop it in a match, then? Please, I'll do whatever you want. You know how important this is to me!"

"What sense would that make, Seth? Come on. We'll make an official announcement by the end of the week."

" _You can do anything you fucking want_!" Seth screamed, slamming a fist against the wall. "Don't give me that! You make the rules here! Why are you doing this to me!"

The room went quiet for a moment. Seth looked up to see Hunter staring at him strangely. In the next moment, he grabbed Seth's nape and pushed his head into the dense pillow, using his other hand to hold him down while the younger man flailed and clutched at him.

"Because she knows her other plans are going to fail. Because she wants something safe in place when everything falls through. She wants him to run back screaming to her because this world burned him and she told him so." He leaned in closer to Seth's ear. "The very reason Orton is dead. He wouldn't just go along. She gave him everything he needed and he failed her. We're all pawns in this sick, twisted little family game. Now, do you want to be useful or do you want to be dead?"

Hunter let go and Seth flopped over, gulping air like he'd just taken his first breath of life. He looked at his surrogate father with red, puffy eyes and cracked lips.

"Hunter..."

Hunter's gaze constantly shifted, as if he wanted to maintain a cold exterior but something indescribable kept slipping in. "If all goes well, we'll have a tournament. I have a few things in mind, but your job right now is to rest up and get well."

He gently rubbed Seth's shoulder. Seth shrank away from the touch, but nodded. He stayed quiet for a few minutes, looking at his surroundings. Tears burned his eyes and blurred his vision.

"If you see Dean, can you just tell him I said I'm sorry?"

"Of course. I will."

Hunter quietly pulled the door up behind him. He stood alone in the chilly, fluorescent white hallway that smelled like alcohol and plaster.

"Are you happy now?" he asked out loud.

_Just about._  
~~~

Bray tended to like water and wood, and Erick traveled best under the shadows of clouds. Luke tended to travel under the earth, creating underground tunnels from Florida to Canada, full of his secrets. 

Pale, thick fingers like mushroom stalks pushed up through the dirt, wet with dew. He stood fully then sat down, brushed the excess dirt off himself and crossed his legs. Nature was so peaceful and still. He could smell rain approaching, and rain meant heavy, black storm clouds.

How would their newcomer travel? When he's completed, that is. It was awfully sentimental and impractical, but he secretly wanted a baby. Something he could teach from scratch. He'd whispered his thoughts to Sister Abigail, but she seemed awfully preoccupied these days with getting her children in line.

Luke was a good boy. He was sensitive to Sister Abigail's voice like his two brothers, but he knew when to ignore her and how to interpret. Bray had that ability, but he'd gone quite off the deep end as of late. Erick was still unfamiliar, and so the voices rang in his head like the clanging of a great many bells and confused him. He was being pulled in any which direction and Luke felt sorry for him.

A single cloud dropped low to the ground and formed the shape of a man, and his red-bearded brother sprang from it. His face was troubled and dark as he approached. Luke saw him and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Erick asked.

"Did you really think Orton was going to do your bidding?"

Erick sighed. "Sister Abigail said he was the one. She's disappointed too."

"In him? Or you?"

Erick scowled. "I suppose in both of us." 

Luke wasn't a man to beat around the bush. He pulled a common kitchen knife out of his jeans and leaned up against a tree trunk.

"No. Just you. Who do you think told me to take the viper out, hm?" He stood in a fluid motion that defied his bulk, then threw the knife in a straight line at Erick's head. He was pleased when the other man caught it without flinching. "Now, with that, she says, use it however you see fit. Do you understand?"

Erick nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Luke laughed hoarsely. "Good, good. Now, get to it." 

The cloud that birthed him dropped down and swallowed him up again. Luke rested against the tree again, this time propping a leg up on his knee. It was so rare he had a chance to listen to the birds, outside, even though they were scattering now due to the oncoming storm, that is...

~~~

Hunter didn't hang up the phone so much as it slipped from his shaking hands into his lap. He leaned against the couch and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity before Stephanie broke his concentration.

"Oh no," she said, "what happened now?" 

"Ziggler. Is dead."

Stephanie covered her mouth and almost buckled. "What!"

"Yes." He finally turned his head to focus on her. "Found him this afternoon. Broken neck." 

"But who would want to kill Dolph? I don't understand..." 

"His door was wide open. There was a knife, signs of struggle. Witnesses say they heard someone screaming in the hallway, then they found him." 

Stephanie carefully lowered herself to sit on a stair step, hand still over her lips and tears rolling down her face. She shook her head, a few strands working loose. "I just don't...what could we possibly tell his family?" 

"Anything but the truth." Hunter sharply stood, cell phone in hand. "Puts a bit of a wrench in our plans for the belt."

"The belt?" Stephanie's sorrow turned to barely concealed rage. "The belt? A man is dead and all you're concerned about is this tournament you threw together?" 

"Stephanie, if I stopped to dwell on everyone that has inexplicably died just this month, I'd be a screaming wreck."

Stephanie struggled to keep her voice even and her legs steady. 

"Hunter. There is a man with a broken neck in a hotel room we paid for. That man is _dead_."

Hunter waved her off and turned around, deep into his conversation with whoever. Stephanie thought it might be Sheamus. She balled her hands into fists and squeezed, released then squeezed again.

"Please. At least help me figure out something to say to his loved ones."

"That we're very sorry," Hunter hissed, "and it was an accident."

"They'll know we're lying."

"Then we're lying."

Stephanie slapped the phone out of Hunter's hand, sending it sliding across the floor in pieces. She grabbed the front of his shirt as if she was strong enough to hoist him up, but instead she sank her face into it, sobbing.

"Please." She hiccupped. "You know what's going on, I just want to know what's going on, I want to _understand_..."

Hunter swallowed and held her close. "The last thing Dolph told me...he said play dumb. I've been trying that for a while." He laughed. "I mean, we knew what we were sitting on, but now...I tried playing along with their game. Looking away when things happened. At least they left you alone like they promised..." He trailed off and sighed.

Stephanie wiped her face and looked up. "Did you make some kind of deal with them?"

"More like a loose agreement that keeps getting altered. You see how it's turning out."

"We need to leave. Now. We can't save this anymore."

Hunter kissed Stephanie's cheek and wiped off a bit of smudged mascara from her cheek. "I know, baby. We are. But first we need to salt the earth here. If they want it so bad they can fucking have it."

He pulled away from her and dipped to the floor to pick up the pieces of his phone. He held them up on display, then snapped the battery back in.

"Gotta get back to my phone call. I'm working on this."

Stephanie nodded and slowly lowered herself to the couch. Hunter turned his phone back on and quickly walked into the bathroom down the hall. He locked the door and let himself sink down onto the cool tile, hand against his cheek.

"Really? Ziggler? What did he do to you?" 

The voice that answered was a weary sigh. _You fools don't know how to hush up._

"He's not part of this. Unless you made him a part."

_Hush! I heard your little comments about salting the earth, you said...?_

"I was just talking, she's nervous. Look, I can't give you anyone else. I'm begging you, this has to be it."

_If you just follow the plan, po' lil rich boy, you'll never hear from me again._

"Everything's going to go according to plan. I promise." He felt her presence dissipate. When he was sure she was gone completely, he dialed out a number on his phone and waited for the recipient to answer.  
~~~

Roman looked up from his position on the worn tweed couch and smiled at Luke.

"Hey, Luke. Remember when we were talking about golems?"

"Hmm...oh, yeah, a few weeks ago."

"Yeah. That's essentially what we're making right?"

"You know, I think you're right. 'Cept he's not clay."

Roman watched as his brother worked on dismantling Erick's corpse to add it to the growing pile of odds and ends in the wheelbarrow. He frowned.

"When will he be ready?"

Luke finally looked up, face dotted with splatter, and frowned in turn. "Not sure. Maybe a few more weeks. We need lots of material cause he's gonna be a big boy."

"I'm big."

Luke laughed. "We can't use you. This one needs greedy, foolhardy types to make him strong."

Roman cocked his head. "What did Erick do?"

Luke wiped his hands on his pants. "Erick...well. We loved Erick. Gave him chances, lots of 'em. He thought he knew better than us, then he tried to hurt you because he was jealous."

"Honestly, I thought you'd try to kill me before him."

Luke looked at Roman blankly a long time before the two of them started chuckling. 

"Yeah. Yeah. I did, too." He kneeled down and went back to work. "But however I feel about you...Erick had--what is it? Something chill?"

"No chill!"

"Yeah, he had no chill about it. Can't figure it out. Sad, but that's done with now." Luke stood up again and looked at his handiwork. "I hate that it ended like this."

Roman shrank back and his voice grew small in turn. "I'm sorry..."

"Not your fault, little brother."

Roman smiled at that and the warm feeling of belonging made him tingle.

"Now, about this tournament situation. Bray won't be very happy when he finds out you're still in it."

"He'll be happy when I win. He says I don't need it, but I...I..."

"You feel empty without it."

"Empty." Roman glanced at the wheelbarrow full of parts. "I still need to complete myself. I need to prove it to everyone."

Luke chuckled again. "Bray thinks he can show you other ways to be strong but he's not the competitive sort like we are, is he?"

Roman shook his head. "He doesn't get it."

"Sure doesn't. He doesn't see that he can't just lock you up in a tower away from your friends and think you'll be alright." Luke took hold of the wheelbarrow and rolled it out. He said over his shoulder, "You're his first, go easy on him."

Roman couldn't help laughing into his folded arms. A tendril slinked around and wrapped itself around his finger. "Thanks. Luke, promise me something."

"Yes?"

"If something happens to me, use me for the new guy. Okay?"

"Now, why--" Luke stopped himself. "Okay. Promise."

He pushed the wheelbarrow out the door and into the cool night. "You sure work in mysterious ways," he muttered.


End file.
